


Mayday

by hotlegfryegg



Series: Catch 67 [1]
Category: VALORANT (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-compliant divergence?, F/F, F/M, It's nosy old man hours for Brimothy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, This was started before we had lore soooo, Who knows! It wasn't supposed to get this edgy!, theoretical physics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotlegfryegg/pseuds/hotlegfryegg
Summary: Loyalties amongst the agents are tested as a dangerous secret threatens to tear the team apart.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Phoenix/Sova (VALORANT), Sage/Viper (VALORANT)
Series: Catch 67 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871569
Comments: 103
Kudos: 163





	1. The Hypothesis

Brimstone prods the body with the steel toe of his boot.

The motion of his foot turns his victim’s face skyward and immediately, Brimstone's stomach lurches. It’s a rookie mistake to look a corpse in the eyes, but he does, and his fears are confirmed. One gray, one blue.

The commander crouches down, firmly cupping the slack jaw in his hand to look closer. The bullet hole centered in the forehead seeps at the touch, oozing to stain the platinum hair around the body's temples. Brimstone frowns, thumbing along the cross-section of lighter skin around the eye and brow. It’s a near perfect replica of the real thing, but something is off. It’s on the tip of his tongue, he knows what it is but can’t quite place it like a spare piece in a puzzle.

He’s seen this before, somewhere else, hasn’t he? There’s a reason he knows this is a fake, but it doesn’t quite reach the captain. Would he need the original to know it? Why couldn’t he think of it, here and now, as the leather of his gloved fingers catch the stubble across its face?

“Brimstone.”

Less a question, more a demand. The call snaps him from his reverie all the same.

“Sage.” He counters, not looking away from the body. “Get bored watching point C?”

Her footfalls stop just shy of his left side, pace unhurried.

“There are no attackers left. I do not miss,” she says brusquely.

“Were they like this one? Or” -- he stands, wiping his glove on his pant leg -- “am I about to get axed for friendly fire?”

A beat passes. Brimstone finally turns around and looks at Sage, ready to prompt her appraisal a second time, but the quip doesn’t come once he sees her expression. Her face is pinched in confusion as she stares down, making the same mistake he did.

It really was a startling resemblance.

Sage starts to crouch to examine for herself, but Brimstone’s hand flashes out to grab her shoulder. Like lightning, her own hand snags his wrist with a grip like iron. They finally look each other in the eyes, both scanning each other for the slightest imperfection, the faintest clue that the other isn't who they say.

Something in Brimstone wants to laugh as her manicure bites into his skin. Only the real Sage would meet his gaze with such unabashed repulsion, and not outright kill him.

He loosens his grip, slowly, as if handling a wild animal. “Easy now,” he coos, tilting his head back slowly to stare down his nose, “if it wasn’t really me, you’d be dead already. I’m the real deal. Ask me anything.” His gloved fingertips still brush against her shoulder.

Just for a moment, her nails dig deeper, forcing Brimstone’s smile into a grimace. Black eyes flash over his face to take a final discerning inventory before she shoves his hand away with a huff of indignance. 

“Not necessary,” she snaps, turning on her heel and stepping away. “A fake would not be so bold as to touch me.”

Brimstone barks out a laugh. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me!”

“Bold and _foolish_ ,” she scowls over her shoulder. “I did not examine the bodies, as they were all the same robots as before and it would have been unwise to move from my position. If Phoenix or another noticed anything strange, they have not mentioned such. When last I checked my monitors, all were well.”

_Her monitors_. Brimstone could slap himself for being so stupid. “Check again, specifically--”

“Sova.” She pulls a small drive from her lapel and a holoscreen jumps to life with an unsuitably cheerful blip. Brimstone spots the slightest fumble in her movements as he steps to peer over her shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the display and all its secrets. His snooping is quickly put to a stop as he realizes, deflating, that the language is set to Chinese.

_Why, why did he take Spanish in high school?_

Sensing his despair, Sage pities him and angles the screen to give him a better view. “Here,” she scrolls through several rows of heart monitors and tapping one in particular, “we can see all of our teammates are alive. Our Sova is third from the bottom.” 

Leaning closer, he squints down at the vitals in question. “Isn’t that kinda fast for a heartbeat?”

“I would guess he is running to rendezvous, as are Phoenix and Jett.” The screen blinks away and she tucks the drive back into its home in her breast pocket. “You may want to ask that they meet us here, to discuss…” She crosses her arms tight across her chest, turning to face the corpse still laying in the courtyard.

A breeze rustles the tarps on the various crates scattered around the area, whistling through the bullet holes left by the fight. The body lay partially obscured from their view by a large stack of boxes in the center of the courtyard. Even with its face paled by the draining blood, there was a haunting beauty echoed in the angles of its cheeks and jaw. It could have been cast in marble, cut to be matched only by its living counterpart. 

The thought that it may not _have_ a counterpart skitters on the outskirts of the soldier’s mind, and he shudders. As if the picture it made of failure was not bad enough.

Brimstone reaches up to tap his comm, but stops short. He glances back down at Sage. “Are we sure we want them knowing?”

She whips back to stare at him, balking. “You would obscure such information from the others? They are our allies, how could you--”

He holds up a hand, exasperated, and her jaw shuts with a click.

“Thank you,” he exhales, voice just above a whisper. Her brow twitches, but she says nothing, and so he drops his hand. “We are allies, you’re right. But we’re still mercenaries on contract, and not everyone has your strong sense of justice. One of ours could be bought by whoever made _that_ ” --he gestures towards the body-- “and be feeding them intel. We don’t know if anyone is compromised, or god help us if that’s what I think it is, how the material was acquired to make it. It’s important that we play this very carefully.”

The intense sun of Haven abates for a moment as a cloud passes, casting shadow across the courtyard. Sage searches Brimstone’s face one more time for any hint of deceit or betrayal before the anger in her face crumples, and she sighs into her hands. 

He’s made a good point and he knows it. And she knows he knows it.

“On the other hand, you’re not wrong.” He continues, still hushed. “Contract or not, they are our teammates. We’ve only been employed for a week, but we could be at this for a while. And this is the kind of secret that can cost lives very quickly if not everyone is up to speed. It’s possible there is no mole.”

“This could kill us either way.” She raises her head out of her hands, steepling her fingers against her chin as she stares at the offender laying before them. There’s a calm in her stare now as rationality comes back to surface. “You think you know what he--it... is. I trust that judgement, but question where that knowledge comes from. The fact that you may have seen this before is suspect of your involvement here and now.”

Brimstone nods once and crosses his arms. “I understand that. I can walk you through what I think I know and how I met this one,” he says, jerking his head slightly toward it. “But don’t get me wrong. I’m not one hundred percent on what this thing is, and I won’t be until we find the original or conduct an autopsy. And it doesn’t change the fact that we need to make a decision here and _now_. We have a body of a possible ally lying in the dirt and about 20 minutes until we’re due to leave, which gives us one definite and two choices. Either everyone rendez-vous here and talk this out, and prepare a debrief for the base, or you and I find a good hiding spot for the thing and hope no one comes our way or asks what we were up to. Need to find Sova and the others either way.” 

“Why did you stop me from examining the body?”

“Had to make sure it was you, first. I can explain why now or later, your call.”

Her lips purse into a line. “It will have to be later, time is short. If we speak, we must be swift to act if one among us is a traitor.”

“You wanna tell them, then?” he asks.

Dark eyes flick back to meet his own. “I took an oath to do no harm, by my hand or my inaction. Perhaps it is my ‘strong sense of justice’, but I am confident that I will protect those loyal to us if we are betrayed. You will do the same or die, on my authority. Am I correct?”

Not a question, a demand. He nods gravely.

“Then we are in agreement.” She lowers her steepled hands. The returning sunlight makes her eyes narrow. “Make the call.”

* * *

Light and quick footsteps announce Jett’s arrival as she comes skidding around the corner with a gust of wind, kicking off the wall into a spectacular flip and letting the breeze carry her back down. Brimstone offers a slow clap, which she accepts with a bow before approaching where he’s leaned against the crates in the middle of the courtyard. “Wish you could stick the landing like that, huh, old-timer-- oh. Oh whoa. That’s a body.”

“Don’t go near it yet, kid, we need to do a role call first.”

Jett freezes mid-step, her attention jerked back to the commander. “It?”

“Yes, it.”

“Not, uh. Him?”

“I don’t think so. Gotta check the other one first.”

Her eyes flick to the body, to Sage (who is currently inspecting the body herself, unbothered by Jett), back to the body, and finally to Brimstone, who grimaces.

“... That’s kinda fucked.”

Brimstone snorts out a laugh and shakes his head, offering nothing else. 

With a sneer and a soft _huh_ , Jett vaults atop an adjacent stack of crates with a whoosh in search of a better angle to leer from. Puffs of dust kick up from her ascent and drift across the ground, causing Sage to shoot a rather withering look in the younger lady’s direction. Jett looks unapologetic and disinterested.

_Like a cat_ , Brimstone thinks as he observes the fighter out of the corner of his eye. She pretends to fidget with one of her kunai, her eyes trained just past it to the scene below. Her rubber-clad heel thumps against the plexi-kevlar of the box, the only sound to replace the silence, and the commander knows it sets the tempo of a racing mind. _Jett may be quick to act but she is far from reckless or unintelligent. More than likely_ , he decides, _she’s thinking through the same risks Sage did before we made the call. Smart kid._

After a few more minutes, another set of footfalls--slightly heavier but just as quick as Jett--signal the approach of a fourth agent. Brimstone stands up from his lean and repositions to face the doorway in the far corner of the courtyard, fully expecting a bright and sunny Phoenix to come sauntering in. 

Instead the steps stop short of the passage. Everyone present immediately tenses. Distantly, Brimstone feels his fingers hover over Sheriff attached to his thigh.

A beat passes. No one moves.

Then, the soft whirr of a drone carries through the air. Everyone lets out a collective sigh as a familiar, owl-shaped craft rounds the corner. It’s followed shortly by the owner, who reaches up to pluck it from where it hovers and reattach it to his gauntlet. Sova--after giving his wrist a cursory shake to make sure the drone is secured--gets about one syllable into a greeting before being accosted by Sage.

“Whoa, girl, buy him dinner first!” Jett chides, laughing. But Brimstone sees the worry in Sage’s hands as she grabs the hunter by the face and jerks his head to her level, checks his eyes, turns him this way and that, opens his mouth to squint at his teeth before the man finally has enough and bats her away with a sputter.

The monk holds her hands up in surrender, but is of course poised and ready to delve back in. Poor Sova rubs his mouth and takes a wise step back (as if anyone could possibly escape a determined Sage). His eyes dart around to land on Jett, who points to Brimstone, who points at the body.

Sova’s body.

He didn’t catch it on the drone. Brimstone’s heart plummets to his stomach as he watches Sova’s defensive posture go slack in brief confusion, then seize in panic. In a flash of metal Sage’s head is tilted back to accommodate the bowie knife at her throat, and everyone’s in an uproar.

“--now hang on, son--” his pistol is drawn--

“--if you fucking try it--” her knives hover at the ready--

“-- _NOBODY MOVE_ .” Sova shouts, and they all freeze in place. “You, you are going to tell me who you are, who the fuck _THAT_ is--”

Sage slowly starts to reach forward and he jerks the knife upward, the leather grip creaking in protest. Her entire body moves with it in what Brimstone could almost swear is a practiced motion, leaving her elegant neck unhurt. She still gasps at the act, eyes wide.

“I said don’t. Move.” The slightest waver in his voice belies the pace at which Sova is planning each of their deaths and every possible escape route. He has all the wild fear of a cornered animal, with the added bonus of glancing at his own corpse. “Talk,” he commands.

Sage obeys. “... Sova, I am going to touch your hand,” she starts slowly, experimentally twitching her fingers before beginning to lower them toward his own. The man’s jaw clenches as her fingers make contact, but she doesn’t falter. “I cannot help you with a blade at my pulse. Lower the knife away from my face. You may hold onto it until you feel you are safe. Our friends will not move.” 

The last statement is quite pointed, and Brimstone realizes she is aware that he and Jett have weapons in-hand. Swallowing thickly, he slowly holsters his Sheriff against his leg, pressing the firearm back into place slightly harder to make the sound obvious, and lifts his palms in surrender. The sound is followed by the _snikt_ of Jett tucking her kunai away. He doesn’t need to look back at her to know that the fighter’s nose is wrinkled in frustration as she mimics his pose.

Another breeze rattles the plastic tarps in the courtyard. No one dares to say anything else. The knife is still at Sage’s neck.

_If nobody does anything to disarm Sova and Phoenix finally comes barreling in, this could get worse._ Brimstone clears his throat. He feels both Sova and Jett settle predatory attention on him. Were he not more seasoned, perhaps he would have flinched. 

“This looks bad. But now that you’re here,” he nods to Sova, “I can prove that this isn’t the real Sova. Provided you do me a favor.”

The blade of the knife adjusts slightly against Sage’s throat but her hand does not leave the hunter’s, the touch feather light. Sova leans slightly to the left, looking past his hostage, and it suddenly clicks for Brimstone: the evidence he needs is right there, staring him in the eyes. _That’s_ what it was!

For all that Brimstone can easily place himself in the other man’s crisis, he doesn’t account for the possibility that Sova would back down so quickly. But he does, slowly lowering the knife and allowing Sage to breathe a quiet _thank you_ before stepping out of arm’s reach.

“That, uh. Thanks. Easier than I expected.”

Sova closes his eyes for a moment, still squeezing the knife in his hand. With a deep breath, he finally settles his stare back on the commander. _One blue, one gray. Equal and opposite_. “Now, explain.”

“Right.” Brimstone crosses over to where the corpse still lay, and Sova hesitantly follows, stopping a little further back and eyeing it balefully. “Let me start at the beginning. Shortly after First Light, I took a job working for an extremely shady organization. Merc jobs for non-radiants were getting scarce, and money was money--”

“ _To the point_. Tell me what made you kill… me.”

“Fair enough. You can probably tell yourself, actually.” The commander squats down by the body again, pointing to the face. “For me, if the whole shooting-at-me wasn’t a big clue, the eyes were.”

A loud clunk sounds just behind them, causing both to nearly jump out of their skin. Jett could care less as she hops from her perch on the side to the crates in the middle of the courtyard, stuffing her hands in her pockets and leaning forward to look between the two Sovas with a discerning eye. “Oh, shit, I totally see it now!” She squats down on top of the boxes, cocking her head to one side. “I wouldn’t have noticed that from a distance. You were in the sniper’s perch, right? Up there,” she says, pointing to the bullet holes in the balcony wall.

“Yep. This one gave me a hell of a run for my money. Sent a sonic arrow straight for my head. For a second,” he glances sidelong at Sova, “I thought you were bought out.”

Sova finally kneels to conduct his own inspection, brow knit. “It is a mirror image,” he murmurs, gloved hand hovering just above the doppelganger's scar. “Almost perfect, except for that. Even our clothing and technologies are identical.” His hand drifts down, lifting the flaps of the cloak and gingerly lifting the body’s wrist, where an owl drone is affixed.

“Exactly. That’s why I think I know it’s a clone.”

“Wait, hold up,” Jett interrupts loudly. “A clone? Like, Star Wars clone?”

Brimstone raises a bushy eyebrow. “Weird example," he says haltingly, "but yes, a clone.”

This catches Sage’s attention, and she returns to kneel by the head of the fake. “How would a clone have such a precise image, yet reversed? His--it’s clothing is flipped as well. Why?”

Brimstone sniffs, lifting his beret to quickly scratch his head. “I have a theory for that, which is where I was going with the story, but there’s no short answer. Probably something we should wait to talk about at debrief.”

“These tools were custom made, either designed and built myself or commissioned for me. And yet, he has the same.” Sova drops the arm and slides his hands gently under the torso and legs of the body, queueing Brimstone to shuffle backward and allow him to roll the clone onto its side. Sage assists, holding the body upright at the shoulder while Sova inspects the bow strapped in place.

“My bow was a gift from my father.” His voice was quiet as his fingers began drifting along the curve of the weapon, searching. “The original was inscripted with a proverb, something he taught me along with how to shoot it. The engraving should be right here,” Sova says, his hand stopping just just above the grip.

“... Is it there?” Jett asks, squinting down (as if text that small would be visible to her).

Sage (who actually is close enough) cranes for a better view before shaking her head. “I see nothing. Perhaps as a small detail, it was enough to be missed when scanned for a 3D print.”

“Ooo, this looks fun. Am I missing out on a group cuddle? We kissin’ the homies?” Everyone starts, whipping around to identify the newcomer. Phoenix flashes his trademark smile from where he leans casually against the wall. “Much as I’d love to join, the transport’s ready to roll. ‘Less you feel like walking back. No pressure. I already called shotgun, so please, take your time.”

Sage and Brimstone share an uneasy look before the american stands, rolling his shoulders. “There’s body bags in the humvee. Jett, you mind?”

She blinks down at the commander in a silent challenge which he meets, cocking a single eyebrow. Another gust of wind casts her hair across her face, rattling the tarps again. Jett relents with a roll of her eyes, she slides off the crates and gives a loose salute with an _ok boomer_ before jogging out.

Brimstone glances back down in time to watch Sage reverently reach out and slide her hand across the clone’s face, finally closing its eyes. Sova’s expression is unreadable, but his shoulders sag and he slides a hand across his mouth. The monk gently reaches to rest her hand on his leg, and as she whispers quietly to the man, the commander turns away to give them a moment of privacy. They speak quietly enough for him to miss most of the conversation, but catches sorry, not alone, thank you, quiet platitudes and comforts. Lord knows Sova will need them.

This is terra incognita, to see yourself lay dead in front of you. The commander recalls his own existential crisis for a moment, and recalls that same mistake. Looking a dead thing in the eyes is dangerous. Anyone who has seen death knows it well, how that spark of animation departs and leaves your chest heavy with the sudden awareness of your own mortality. But with a clone, especially of someone you know, the questions hit differently: was it truly alive? Or only borrowing life? Did it know it was a copy of someone else, made to infiltrate and dismantle peace? Who made it?

More importantly, why?

Phoenix finally makes his way over and becomes equally captivated by the dead body. Brimstone watches a variety of emotions roll across the young man’s face--shock, then disgust, then a combination of resignation, incredulity, and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, then thinks better of it. Reaches out to touch Sova’s shoulder, but rethinks that too, choosing to stare at the other man’s back with his hand hovering awkwardly. And he locks eyes with Brimstone, something almost pleading in his expression as he mouths a silent " _Is he okay_?"

Which is when Jett nails Phoenix square in the back of the head with the plastic package. The meaty slap it makes shatters the tension in the courtyard as it echoes.

“HEADSHOT!” she woops before bouncing back out of the courtyard.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me--OI!” Phoenix chases after her.

Brimstone struggles to contain his laughter, opting to smother his wheezing into his palm. With a huff of admonishment, Sage leans awkwardly and snags the body bag from where it landed just behind Sova. She shakes her head as their teammates yelling echoes from the corridors of Haven and splits open the outer plastic with her nails, shaking out the black polyethylene and rising to stand on her knees for a better angle. “Brimstone, will you help me? Our burden is not light.”

“You’re right,” he says, bending to align the opening down to the feet of the body. “The real thing’s pretty muscular. I doubt this one would be any lighter.”

If the “real thing” hears, he doesn’t respond, instead busying himself with assisting his comrades in packaging his double. His mouth sets in a grim line as he roughly jerks the bag around where the corpse is still rolled on its side, loveless as if he were simply bagging refuse and not himself. _Out of denial and straight into anger_ , Brimstone thinks. _That was fast. I stayed in denial for a long time._

Sage casts a sidelong grimace at Brimstone before counting down. 3, 2, 1, and the body is rolled over by the three of them. They pull the bag around the other half, lay it flat once more, and she does the honors of zipping it in place. 

Choosing not to dwell for all their sakes, Brimstone hefts the whole bag over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and starts for their transport home. Before he can make it out of the courtyard, Sova speedwalks in front of him, almost at a run. _It’s going to be a rough night_ , the commander thinks, adjusting the black plastic on his shoulder. _I don’t blame you._

“Oh no.”

“Huh?” Brimstone turns around, stepping backwards to face Sage as she stares at the body in abject horror. “It’s not oozing, is it?” he asks, checking the dirt around his feet.

“No, that’s not it. This… is going to be _their_ jurisdiction.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Their?”

“ _Tch-ahh_ , think, fool!” She snaps bitterly. “Clones like this are a combination of biochemistry and data collection. Who on our team resides over each?”

It dawns on him. “Ohhh, those two.” Brimstone shifts the weight on his shoulder and resumes walking. Sage broadens her stride to keep up, so he slows his pace a bit to accommodate. “You know, you’re the only one who butts heads with them on a daily basis. If this is their area of expertise, hopefully they can fill in the blanks here. Or one of them is linked to the bastards behind this,” Brimstone adds, “and then we’ll let Raze make ‘em into a pinata.”

The joke falls flat as they reach the transport. The cargo hold is already open and waiting for Brimstone to heft in the body, which he does, stretching his arms as the hydraulic door shuts on its own and seals with a soft click. Sage is already halfway into the passenger’s seat when she sticks her head back out the door to look at him.

“If it is, and they are, I swing first,” she says firmly.

He grins. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write a short fic collection about being horny because it's May but HERE WE ARE INSTEAD HOO BOY  
> It's like I can't write anything remotely sexual without some kind of plot preface. Gotta take yall out for coffee first I guess.  
> Anyway here's a fan theory, drink up babes


	2. The Hot Seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google is my translator, so sorry in advance to people who actually speak spanish, portugese, and catonese.
> 
> This work has that mature tag for a reason: there are planned references to sexual acts. I'm not going to get explicit or too graphic, although some characters will get hot and heavy, I plan to leave the dirty deed up to your overactive imaginations. So don't clutch your pearls too hard!

Sage’s distaste for Viper is validated when, as Brimstone explains what exactly they have in the body bag, her lips curl into what is quite possibly the most horrifying smile Brimstone has ever seen in his life.

The debrief is already off to a rough start. Seated to Brimstone’s left, Cypher seems to match Viper’s excitement as he leans forward on the conference table, hat off and in front of him, chin at rest on his hands in rapt fascination. Omen, who lurks in the corner of the room by a stack of empty boxes, seems to have perked up at the idea of shooting things other than the robots (which is it’s own flavor of disturbing). Sova stares longingly at the only door from his seat at the end of the table, but is caged in place by Phoenix (who has an arm slung around the back of his chair), and Sage (as she glares daggers across the table at Viper).

Brimstone finishes explaining the events of Haven as best he can before giving Viper and Cypher each a pointed look. “Before you two do anything stupid, I’m going to go ahead and set a rule right now--you’re not doing jack shit to that body before you ask Sova for permission,” he warns, and Viper’s smile disappears. “He says no, we turn it over to the Valorant Protocol and let them handle it.”

The scientist turns around so hard she ought to have whiplash. Sage goes on the defensive and slams an arm on the table in front of Sova, who pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. Both women snarl at each other from across the table. Brimstone wonders if he should have brought a tranquilizer gun.

“What permission would they need for an autopsy?” Omen rumbles, his clawed gloves twisting in the fabric of his scarves. “Flesh is flesh. Let them at it.”

Cypher practically purrs, “There’s much to be learned from a corpse, even if it’s laid bare and cut into. Organs can have identifying marks just as much as skin, not to mention their condition can lay out a lifetime of choices. Diet, vices, scars--and that’s just the  _ inside _ .” He turns to look at Sova. Brimstone swears he sees the eyes of his mask flash. “Tattoos, hair, nails, teeth, piercings, bruises. I wonder what our dear friend would not want us to see?”

“Stop trying to scare him off, I want to perform the damn autopsy!”

“Hey,” Sova cranes around to look at Omen, “I will pay you money to kill me, right now.”

The ghast shudders with excitement and cracks his knuckles.

“AHAHA, great joke, you joker!” Phoenix says too loudly, slinging his arm around Sova’s neck and pulling him close. “So funny! Got the whole squad laughin’.”

“I am not laughing--”

“COMEDIC GOD. TEACH ME YOUR WAYS.”

“That’s enough.” Brimstone throws his hat in the middle of the table. It lands partially over the holomap light, cutting the projection of Haven in half and casting the back of the room into darkness. The commander’s face is still illuminated, so he leans forward, looking in Sova’s general direction. “I get you’re in the hot seat. Cloning is a nightmare to deal with, and we’re damned if you consent and damned if you don’t. But I need you to make a choice. You can be as involved as you want with it, set whatever conditions for the autopsy you think fit, but let me tell you this: clones are different from humans, mostly in the sense that they decompose  _ fast _ .” He knows he has Sova’s attention from the pinpoint of blue, his augmented eye. “God knows I wish we could take our time. I really do. But even in the freezer, I’d give this about sixteen hours before the body starts to rot.”

“How do you kn--” starts Viper.

“Peanut gallery closed until I get an affirmative. Sova?”

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Sova’s eye vanishes from Brimstone’s view, and he hears the man blow out a slow breath. Someone fidgets, their budget office chair creaking. Omen’s mask flashes briefly, but he says nothing.

Finally Sova answers, exasperated. “It is enough time to sleep on my decision, no? Or at the very least, a couple hours to think this through.”

“Dissection, like any art, takes time.” Viper’s voice oozes from somewhere on Brimstone’s right. “I would need at least three hours to analyze, and longer to properly dispose of anything incriminating. Not to mention preparing lab space and documentation. You have eight hours to make a choice.”

“Why are you dissecting?” he asks. “You’re a chemist.”

“Toxicology requires biological knowledge, especially biochemistry. Clones in particular are interesting in their composition, as each company capable of making them has a different… secret recipe.” Brimstone hears Viper’s seat squeak as she adjusts her posture. “Given that Brimstone is confident in having such a generous deadline, this one sounds like it’s well made, meaning it’s more complicated. But it also has a more obvious fingerprint as far as who can produce it, depending on what compounds are available and where they could be sourced from. Unless one of you has a secret doctorate in chemistry and certifications in handling toxic substances, I’m the only one on-site capable of making a proper analysis.”

“Plus, you’re morally repugnant enough to probably know where those chemicals came from,” Sage mutters.

“Oh, you undersell me. I more than likely helped to make them.” The smile in Viper’s voice makes Sage grit her teeth so hard that Brimstone can hear it from across the room.

“Why is our time so limited? Is it not an identical human corpse?”

“Not exactly, Sova,” Cypher answers. “Cheaper clones tend to be unstable even while active. But good clones, while they might not fall apart so quickly, have a built-in failsafe to prevent exactly what we’re trying to do. As our beautiful Sabine so eloquently said, each cloning facility has different chemical components available, each with their own particular thumbprints. We can determine the location, budget, and involved companies if we’re quick enough.”

“Then let’s--”

The hacker holds up a finger to interrupt. “Which brings me to the bad news.” Viper groans and sets her head on the table, fingernails scraping the vinyl surface as Cypher continues. “Cloning is a younger technology for counterintelligence, but it’s a fast-developing field. Any company worth its salt knows how valuable a corpse can be, and many have started employing failsafes into critical organs. The second a clone dies, small parcels open up and release reagents to enhance the decomposition process.” He swivels to face Brimstone. “Your guess is generous indeed.”

“So instead of sixteen hours…?” Sova asks, hesitant.

Cypher fiddles with the brim of his hat on the table. “It’s in the freezer? Halve it.”

“We’re running out of time,” hisses Viper. She swats Brimstone’s beret back off the holomap and everyone flinches at the sudden brightness. “You need to make a choice, now.”

“Give me an hour,” Sova counters.

“No. NOW.”

Brimstone nods. “An hour it is.”

If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man walking.

“Then, if you’ll excuse me.” Sova stands, forcing Phoenix’s arm away as he walks out of the room, all eyes watching him go. The hydraulic door shuts with a quiet woosh.

“You IDIOT--”

“Prep the lab, Sabine.”

She sputters, and Brimstone smiles at her. “He’s going to let you perform that autopsy. Just get whatever you need set up. Everyone else will stay out of the way.” He rescues his poor hat from the floor behind him. “Dismissed.”

The room falls silent. Those without masks stare at Brimstone with a look of disbelief. Cypher just snickers, shaking his head before pushing back from the table and leaving the room. Omen slinks out behind him before the door closes. Phoenix and Sage remain seated with equal looks of bewilderment.

“What makes you so sure, old man?” Viper crosses her arms and stares down her nose at Brimstone, which is impressive considering how much shorter she is.

“Well, he’s a hunter,” he says, reaching to flick the overhead lights back on. “And a mercenary. I’ve seen his personnel file from the Protocol, and I know you have too.” The holomap shuts off with a happy chiptune and he tosses the remote back on the table. “Do you all really think he’s the type to take something like this sitting down?”

“He’s gonna want revenge,” says Phoenix.

Brimstone grins. “Exactly. And he’s the best hunter money can buy.”

Viper hums thoughtfully.. “He can track down the manufacturer with the information _ I _ supply. Take us straight to the source.”

“We do not know that he will agree. You are… What is the phrase? Leaping the gun?”

“It’s ‘jumping the gun’, Sage. And maybe I am. Let me put it this way: whoever cloned one of ours probably has enough materials to clone another. If Sova says yes, then the lab is already set up for it.”

“And if he says no,” Phoenix mutters, “then we just pick up the next clone and cut into that one.”

“Bingo.”

“Because the next person will not be able to refuse the autopsy,” sniffs Sage. “One clone is the result of one person dropping their guard. Two different clones is a direct attack on the Protocol.”

“And if it’s another Sova, he’ll still have no choice because he’s surrounded by the best resources and assistance available while he’s on contract! Oh, you are a crafty motherfucker!” Viper’s laugh makes Brimstone’s hair stand on end.

“I’m not being crafty, he probably knows this already.”

Phoenix glances at the door, then back at Brimstone. “Then why phrase it like he has a choice?”

Brimstone shrugs, leaning against the wall. “He’s smart enough to realize everything you three just said, but the least we can do it is frame this shit-show like he’s actually in control. I’ve been in his shoes, and it’s not easy. I was cloned voluntarily and had my choice taken away.” His expression darkens. “Your autonomy and dignity is nothing until you realize you stopped having any. By the time I knew it was a mistake, it was too late.”

The atmosphere grows heavy, as no one is sure how to respond.

Finally, Viper breaks the silence. “I have a lab to set up. You know where to find me… if you’re right,” she says blithely, slinking out the door. Done staring daggers into the woman’s back, Sage turns her nose up with a huff.

“I should go too. We depart for Bind tomorrow morning, and there is much to be done.”

Exasperated, Phoenix groans. “Please tell me you’re not roping me into cleaning all the guns again.”

“Sounds like you’re free for the evening, kid. Cleaning guns--”

“Builds character, yeah, we know.” Rubbing his face, Phoenix rocks forward onto his feet and steps away from the chair. He moves towards the door, but pauses before turning on his heel to face the commander. “Do you think I should…” he makes a noncommittal gesture. “Talk to ‘m?”

Sage rolls her eyes but says nothing, taking her leave, head held high. Both men watch her go, and the door slides shut.

Brimstone cocks an eyebrow, glancing back at Phoenix. “You want my opinion?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked,” he deadpans.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

Phoenix snorts. “Try me.”

The older man steeples his fingers in front of his lips and inhales through his nose before pointing his hands at Phoenix. “Just because you blow a guy on contract day doesn’t entitle you to a relationship with him, nor does it give you access to his emotional well being.”

Phoenix balks, gobsmacked. “I--wha--how did---”

“Oh, don’t worry, you weren’t that noisy,” Brimstone laughs, “Coulda picked a better spot than the range, though.” He gives a shit-eating grin and a wink. “At least it looked like you two enjoyed it.”

Turning that particular shade of red shouldn’t be possible, but Phoenix finds a way as he slumps against the door, groaning feebly into the crook of his arm. Brimstone laughs harder, clapping him on the shoulder.

“No, really,” the commander says, trying to smother his chuckle as he pats Phoenix’s shoulder gently now. “Don’t chase it. We both saw him and how the second he got the chance, he was outta this room like a shot. Does that say ‘I want to talk about my feelings’ to you?”

Phoenix shoots him a withering look, and Brimstone sighs. “Look, son, I know you feel awful for him. We all do. And you certainly, uh, know him a bit better than the rest of us.” He removes his hand, crossing his arms across his chest again. “But you’re already taking a risk getting that close. Sova’s smart, and now he’s spooked. If you’re going to keep… having  _ clandestine relations _ , you need to respect his space with it. Meet him where he’s at, make sense?”

“... How many kids do you have?” the brit says, leaning on his elbow against the door. “Because there is no way this is the first time you’ve given ‘the talk’.”

Brimstone shakes his head, instead opening the door (which Phoenix falls through with a yelp) and moves past him out of the room.

* * *

_ Cold showers are supposed to wake you up _ , Sova laments.

The tile of the locker room wall is like ice against his forehead and hands. Water beats down across his shoulders, runs down his body, pools around his feet where the drain isn’t quite keeping up.  _ Cold water stimulates, increases awareness, and assists circulation, _ his brain supplies. Right now, it feels like it is doing none of those things. He’s just… numb.

The clone was an “it”. Not a “he”, never a “he”, not a person, just a thing. An item that wore his face, carried his drones, fired his bow. Its eyes were the same, were human, but also weren’t. 

They were empty. A reflection cast in cloudy water.

Suddenly craving any kind of sensation, Sova flips the temperature gauge with one hand and yelps at the sudden heat. The sound echoes around the empty showers, bouncing off the tile just like the now-steaming water. He tilts his head back into the spray, eyes clenched shut, gasping through his mouth. It is fire, immolating and purifying.

Yet he doesn’t feel clean. Just scalded, scrubbed, and despairingly uncertain.

He shuts off the water and sets his head back on the cold wall. The second he leaves this shower stall is the second he has to face reality and all the luggage that comes with it. Sova balls his fist and bangs it against the wall.  _ Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, _ Brimstone says in his head. Slowly, he splays his fingers onto the wet tile, sighs, and pushes himself away, reaching for the towel he had left waiting. _ Get it over with and be mad later _ , he chides himself,  _ there is no use in being petulant now _ .

The facility’s showers are large considering the scant amount of agents currently in the Protocol’s employ. The room is an L-shape around the basement of their training grounds--one door in the far corner leads outside to the shooting range and mock sites, the other feeds into a small gym. Walking straight in from outside there’s a line of shower stalls to the left and large lockers directly across from them, with a stripe of wood benches separating the two. To the right of the door is a line of sinks and mirrors with toilet stalls running parallel, and the workshop door at the end of the hall. Compared to the decrepit outside of their building, the interior is brand new and still smells of fresh paint more than sweat. It’s rather nice, all things considered.

The last time Sova was in here, the room was full of racket--it was a co-ed bathroom, and Raze had taken full advantage of the day’s brutal team training to rope everyone into singing off-key in the showers. Without ten other people to wail out the chorus of Walking On Sunshine, the white noise of the vent system was the only sound. Despite being glad for the time alone, Sova finds himself a little apprehensive of the quiet as he towels off.

His normal combat regalia had been shucked off in a pile on the bench outside the shower stall. Now that the day was over, and he had been relieved of tomorrow’s duty, there was no point in putting it all back on, and they weren’t quite dirty enough to warrant washing them before the next mission. Sova wraps the towel around his waist and shuffles to the other side of the bench where his locker was waiting. Most still only had the agents’ names scrawled on scraps of painter’s tape and stuck to the door, but a couple already had budding signs of personalization in the form of various stickers. His own, of course, was spartan--save for a new addition.

Three fluorescent sticky notes had been slapped onto the metal, a stark contrast to the drab beige of the lockers. Sova narrows his eyes and gently peels one off. A message was hastily scrawled across two of the papers, blue ink against flamingo pink paper.

_ coruja! <3 not sure when ur squad coming back - supply drop running l8. went hunting 4 takeout, cypher found place outside ascent w/ russian stuff, thot of u but idk what u like so got lots. in fridge w/ ur name, lmk if any good! ;P - RAZE _

The third note has a sketch in the same ballpoint pen of Sova and Raze in a cutesy art style, both flashing a peace sign with  _ VKUSNO!! _ written over their heads in block letters. Unfortunately the moisture of the room had started to saturate the paper, causing the corners to curl inward and some of the ink to become fuzzy. Sova peels the message off and crumples it up, tossing it back onto the bench to toss on his way out, but takes the drawing and sticks it carefully on the inside of his locker door--hopefully a little more sheltered from the elements.

For the first time today, he smiles.  _ If I am in hell, at least the neighbors are friendly. _

The lockers themselves are arranged more like small closets--a bar and wire hangers for clothing, dowels along the bottom for shoes, shelves up top for extraneous goods. Sova takes a moment to thank his past self for having the foresight to leave an extra set of street clothes for a quick change. He hangs up his cloak and shirt and carefully folds his fatigues to drape them over one of the hangers, then grabs the knit tee and sweatpants from the shelf and pulls them on, choosing not to care that they’re now slightly damp. Using the towel that was around his waist prior, he ruffles the fabric over his hair once more in a vain attempt to wick out more moisture so at least his shirt isn’t soaked. A quick brush through later and he shuts the locker, making his way for the sinks.

One moment he’s busy pulling the elastic hairband off his wrist as he approaches, the next he’s frozen in place halfway through the motion, caught staring at the clone. There’s a hole, almost perfectly between its eyes. Its face is ashen, lips just slightly ajar, glassy eyes reflecting the blue Haven sky. One blue, one gray, both empty.

And now they’re staring at him in the mirror. Was the clone in the courtyard crying, too? He doesn’t remember.

Sova does what comes naturally: he turns on his heel, tumbles into the toilet stall, and vomits. It’s all bile, and it burns with all of the fire he’d been bottling up.

He doesn’t realize someone else is in the bathroom with him until he feels his hair being pulled up out of his face, gently tugged by hands unseen before being let go in favor of rubbing circles in his back as he dry heaves. There’s the slightest drag of fingernails along his shirt-- _ a manicure _ , he thinks, _ too pointed to be anything else _ .  _ Perhaps Sage?  _ He doesn’t have much time to wonder before another wave of nausea forces his attention elsewhere.

Eventually, the heaving stops. Sova is still slumped over the bowl, spitting weakly in a vain attempt to purge the taste. He realizes his hair has been pulled into the elastic tie he had abandoned on the floor in his haste not to make a mess. The hand is still lightly scratching circles into his back, blessedly cool to the touch. Blinking tears from his eyes, Sova groans in relief. “Thanks,” he says feebly.

“Of course, darling,” coos Reyna. “Let it aaaall out.”

Sova screams internally. He goes rigid. Because of all the people to comfort him while sick, the last person on earth he’d want it to be is  _ the resident fucking vampire _ .

“So tense, carino,” she tuts, sliding her hands up to grip his shoulders. She squeezes gently, nails biting into his skin “Clone got your tongue? Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.” One hand continues its path upward to card through his hair and he shivers. Reyna chuckles, her voice saccharine as if talking to a child. “And you haven’t eaten since this morning, no? Oh, you poor thing, I bet you haven’t even let yourself cry about it.”

Sova snaps and grabs her wrist, jerking her hand off his shoulder. The hand petting his hair stills. “Why the hell are you here?”

A pause. She flexes the hand in his grip, her radiance shimmering in her tattoos with the movement, and the other hand drifts down to curl delicately around his throat--a feather-light threat punctuated by the slide of her nails against his jugular. He feels her breath against his ear before her lips brush against the cartilage. “Because, little boy, I like you better when you’re not distracted,” she murmurs, low and stern. “Your skill in battle will suffer if you keep that pretty head too full of turmoil. It has to come out somewhere before you get us killed.” She presses herself flush against Sova’s back. The pad of her thumb slides against his jaw, and he swallows reflexively. “Take it from someone who knows all about pain.”

“What makes you think I’m in pain?”

Reyna laughs again. “Oh, carino, I could feel your heartbreak the moment you stepped through the teleporter. And it’s only gotten worse,” she sing-songs, “because you can’t admit to our companions how much it tears you up inside.”

“Why are you here, witch.” He growls again, squeezing harder around her wrist.

“They’re looking for you,” she says, not at all disturbed. “Not because they need your choice, they already know what you’ll decide.”

“Then why--”

The hand around his throat jerks his head back, forcing him onto Reyna’s shoulder. Fuschia flashes in his peripheral vision. She clicks her tongue. “Patience, pet, let me finish.”

His breathing is quickened and he snorts through his nose, glaring at her sidelong, but says nothing. Her half-lidded eyes glow ultraviolet in the shadow of the stall as she meets his stare. The tip of her tongue flicks against her upper lip. She smiles.

“Good boy,” she coos, releasing him. He thrusts her hand away, leaning back towards the toilet and coughing. The presence behind his back disappears and he hears the click of her heels against the tile. “They’re all worried about the same thing I am: that you’re in over your head and aren’t talking about it. I thought you might like to speak in confidence with a friend.”

“We aren’t friends.” Sova spits into the toilet again, huffing. “And in the bathrooms? You couldn’t wait for me to leave?”

Reyna slaps a hand over her chest, clutching fake pearls. “Here I thought we had something special!”

He glares over his shoulder. “Fuck you.”

Cackling, she sits herself on the sink counter. “Oh, I like you. We’re going to have such fun together,” she titters, crossing her legs at the ankle. She reaches behind her head to tie her hair up--Sova realizes she pilfered his elastic in the scuffle--and shakes her head to test the hold of her ponytail. Reyna smiles, all teeth, staring down her nose at where Sova’s still sitting on the floor. “Fine, then, perhaps I was hoping to… be a distraction, from the madness. I like my men a little desperate.”

Sova wrinkles his nose in disgust, spits a final time, and hits the toilet handle on his way to stand. “I wouldn’t touch you in your dreams, baba.”

“Again, with the name calling. So rude.” Reyna tosses her hair, examining her nails with a pout. “You’d be surprised what people like us do just to feel a connection. Besides, maybe you’d watch my back a little better with some…” she eyes him with shameless hunger. “... Motivation.”

_ I just threw up and you still make me sick _ , Sova bites down the retort. He braces himself against the stall door, having stood up too fast, and goes to look at Reyna--forgetting the mirror is still there behind her.

This time, the clone isn’t standing there. Just a man, his face pale, his blonde hair loose and messy around his shoulders, and his eyes alive and tired. Seeing himself exhausts Sova infinitely more than everything else in the last ten hours, and he sags slightly against the plastic stall.

Reyna leans, craning over to intercept his vision. “You’ve seen better days, buhito,” she says softly. It’s uncharacteristically gentle, and yet still comes off as unnerving. Sova frowns, but she continues. “You will see better days, too, ja? Let them learn what they want, and then we all go hunting.”

“That is not a comfort, baba.” He runs a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face. “They are asking to butcher my corpse. I still have my secrets, just as you do. What is more valuable--the answer to who is behind this clone? My life is at stake regardless.”

She considers this, pursing her lips. “Doesn’t the enemy already have your secrets, if they made a copy? I heard the resemblance was remarkable.”

She’s right. And he hates it.

“You hate it when I’m right, don’t you?”

_ Dammit.  _ “Make your point, Reyna. I don’t have time for games.”

“Let me put it this way,” she says, “Your life is always at stake here. You made that choice stepping onto the battlefield. What you are choosing now is how many of us you want to fuck over before you’re willing to admit your pride is worth more than your team. The enemy is not going to wait politely for you to get over yourself. And neither am I.” The hunger in her eyes turns violent, and her radiance flickers uninhibited by the fluorescent lighting.

Sova swallows again. “You are making a threat, then.”

She smirks, adjusting to cross her legs. “A threat? No, Sova, I make you a promise. Make the right choice, and I will fight with you. Revenge is my specialty, after all.”

He takes a step forward. “And if I tell them no?”

Her smirk becomes a carnivorous grin. “You’ve already shown me you don’t want to play. I wonder, if they clone you again, how many I can collect before I get my own little harem? Maybe if they copy all the others too, I can get a complete set!”

She’s still howling with laughter as he stomps out the door, and the sound burns in his ears.

The door drifts shut behind him, hydraulics catching the old-fashioned mechanism and closing with a soft thud. Reyna leans back against the cool mirror and hums out a breath, catching her tongue between her teeth. Her eyes flutter closed.

_ Poor boy _ ,  _ he’s terrified of me,  _ she thinks, licking the points of her teeth _. Good. _

* * *

Peals of laughter carry across the training grounds, ushered by the breeze. The sun is setting, painting the floating harbour in golden light. The handful of cicadas caught up in the local foliage sing faintly in the breeze. A gust of cold air reminds Sova that they’re actually thousands of feet in the air, floating over the shattered remnants of a city somewhere on the mediterranian coast.

Rubbing his arms against the chill, he makes his way to where a handful of the agents are eating dinner in the middle of the old courtyard and enjoying the view over the horizon. Jett spots him and waves him over with a  _ hey!  _ The others look over and suddenly Phoenix is shoving food and a frantically-chewing Raze out of the way, making room in the circle for Sova. His heart does a weird little flip as everyone scoots around to create an extra spot. Phoenix catches his attention and smiles that million watt smile, pats the ground next to him before grabbing a paper plate and reaching for the takeout boxes in the middle of the group.

Of course the second his butt hits the cobblestones, Raze has him in a hold somewhere between a bear hug and a headlock. “Coruja, me desculpe querida!” she cries, planting a kiss firmly on his cheek. “You’re gonna be okay, right? Wanna blow something up later? I’ll let you use my bazooka.”

“Raze, that thing literally malfunctioned this morning,” Jett says with a raised eyebrow. Like the other agents, she’s dressed down--her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s discarded her athletic gear in favor of red basketball shorts and a white tee with a pink bunny logo. She stabs a forkful of what looks like spaghetti. “I don’t think Sova wants that anywhere near his face until you, y’know. Fix it?”

“It’s already fixed! … I think.” Raze loosens her arms, keeping them slung around Sova's neck, and pouts. “Don't listen to her, she's just salty because I jumped higher than her with a paint pack. I mean it, though, how are you feeling? You okay?”

Sova looks around the group. All eyes are on him, equally worried. He swallows thickly.

_ You’re in over your head and aren’t talking about it,  _ Reyna’s voice taunts.

_ Fuck you,  _ he asserts.

“... I will be fine.”

Nobody is convinced. Even Raze is looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

Sova sighs, eye twitching. “How long has it been since the meeting?”

A display pops up on Breach’s arm as he checks the time. “About half an hour. Now give him space, Raze, let the man eat something.”

She obediently lets go, but stays flush against his side. Her hair is loose from her normal braids, it’s a wild and fluffy black mess that tickles his shoulder and smells like paint. Her trademark hat is still on, and her headphones thump out a soft beat from where they hang around her neck. Dried paint flecks pepper her copper skin and smear across her clothes--obviously she’d scrubbed at it earlier, but splotches still remain (would it truly be Raze if she were paintless?). Her head lolls against Sova’s shoulder for a second, and she smiles up at him, eyes bright.

A minute ago, Sova wouldn’t have wanted anyone touching him, but now he’s grateful for the warmth and misses it when Raze sits upright. He glances at Phoenix, smiling weakly with a whispered thanks and taking the plate full of food. It’s been loaded up with cooked vegetables, spaghetti noodles in some kind of red sauce, and a heavenly-smelling slice of garlic bread topped with cheese.

Phoenix picks up his own empty plate, going back into the takeout for seconds. The sleeves of his varsity-style jacket are scrunched up to his elbows, and Sova catches a glimpse of the other man’s radiance flickering gently along his forearms like the embers of a dying fire. As he takes a bite of his pasta, he realizes Phoenix must have used his gifts to warm the food up--they’ve been here for a while, but the noodles and sauce are pleasantly hot despite the blowing wind.

“So,” Phoenix starts around a mouthful of bread. He swallows before continuing. “I know this is a weird compliment, but all of you guys speak amazin’ english. Like, perfect. Where’d you guys learn?”

“Mixed family,” volunteers Jett. She reaches behind her for a water bottle and reaches across to pass it over to Sova, who takes it with a soft word of thanks. “Mom’s American military. Met my dad while she was stationed in Busan, so I grew up speaking both.”

Sova nods. “My family is also mixed, but different. One father is japanese, the other is khazak. They communicate mostly in english.”

“How’d that happen, then?” Breach asks, intrigued.

The hunter thinks, then shrugs. “They were both trained killers long ago, a mercenary and an assassin. Neither has told me how they met, only that they adopted me some time after. I don’t bother asking anymore.” Another pause as he spins his fork into his pasta. “They are old men with old secrets.”

Breach snorts. “Hey, sometimes that’s a family. Two old vigilantes, their secrets, and a little blonde baby in the middle of fuck-all, Russia!”

The group laughs around their food before Jett points a fork at Breach. “Where’d you learn, then?”

“Bah,” the swede waves his fork dismissively, “it was just part of school. I had to take courses to qualify for the Lindholm engineering grant.”

Jett nudges his leg with a call of boooooring, and Breach knees her foot good-naturedly as he scrapes his plate for scraps. The hem of his green flannel shirt flaps in the breeze, billowing out the back. His prosthetic arms are a different set, more casual and structured for performance over durability--the fingers and palm are all capped in silicone pads, and the joints are covered to prevent debris getting caught in the delicate mechanisms. It’s a jarring difference from his normal, imposing gun show.

“My turn,” declares Raze. She grabs a cannoli and drops it onto her plate before licking the powdered sugar off her fingers. “I am entirely self taught and triiiiilingual! Lots of Sesame Street and Dora the Explorer, starting when I was 14. Mi familia thought I was NUTS.”

“Seriously, all yourself? Just on that?” Phoenix raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Not just that, dummy.” She does her best to continue around a mouthful of chocolate and ricotta. “When my house finally got good internet, I picked up a pen pal from Portugal. I helped him with his chemistry homework, and he spoke fluent english, which he then taught me. Win-win!”

“That poor kid. Definitely flunked,” jokes Breach.

Raze sticks her tongue out at him. He just laughs.

“What about you, Phoenix?” Jett, opting out of dessert, stretches out on her side and sets her head on her hand. “Fair’s fair, what you got? Know any other languages?”

The brit’s eyes flash with mischief. “You’re not gonna guess what my second language is.”

This gets everyone’s attention. People start calling out guesses--starting with Raze’s shout of “portugese!” Jett follows suit with arabic, Breach guesses telugu, and Sova chips in with italian. “Alright, alright, you ready? Listenin’?” Phoenix clears his throat, and the other agents go silent with bated breath.

“ Wǒ zuǒbiān gě gèrén xì wǒ jiànguò de zuì piàoliang de rén,” Phoenix says in flawless  _ cantonese _ , and t he group absolutely loses it. He throws his head back with laughter as Raze scrambles over to shake his shoulders, all the while yelling  _ no way, no way! _ Jett gawks, Breach is struggling to swallow his food and not choke, and Sova sets his plate down to clap.

“Don’t you dare,” Phoenix wheezes, wiping the corner of his eye, “tell Sage. I wanna see how long I can go before she realizes I understand when she’s cursing me out.”

Raze flops back down by her plate before leaning forward to look past Sova. “Wait, you’re telling me Sage swears?”

Phoenix hisses a breath in through his teeth. “I swear she’d make a sailor blush with some of the shit she’s said. And she says a LOT.”

“We are forever burdened with this forbidden knowledge.” Jett rolls onto her back, cupping her cheeks in her hands. “No one else can know Sage says fuck.”

The brit snorts. “Fuck is probably the nicest thing that’s come out of her mouth lately. I tried to ask her about the you-know-what, and she spat pure poison about it.”

Almost instantly the mood sours. Sova feels the attention of the group shift to him and drops his gaze to stare a hole in his pasta.

“Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ve brought it back up.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Really.” The hunter shakes his head, looking up to the sky. “It’s probably better to talk about it now, rather than wait. Maybe hearing your thoughts will settle mine.” He sets his plate down and reaches to fix his hair. He had tied it back with a spare elastic after Reyna stole his favorite, but the ponytail had since come loose. Now several strands hang awkwardly around his neck--he would have to undo his hair and retie it.

“Phoenix, you left the conference after I did. What did Brimstone think?” Sova looks over to catch the other man staring at him, expression unreadable. He freezes halfway through the action of twisting the elastic, his arms up around his head. “... Is something wrong?”

“Wh--uh, nah, no, it’s nothing.” Phoenix looks away, gaze skittering back to the food, and he starts busying himself with stacking the empty take out containers. “He thinks there’s gonna be more of ‘em. Just a matter of when, and who.”

Jett scowls. “Makes me sick. You can’t hire your own fuckin’ help, have to copy the competition? Stupid.”

“And probably more expensive,” Breach says, mirroring Jett’s expression. “I’m worried about the tech. Yours was almost a perfect copy, aye?” he asks, and when Sova nods solemnly he shakes his head. “If they’re copying more of us, that means they got ahold of blueprints and materials. My arms are cutting edge as is.” He gestures, holding out one of his mechanical hands. “These right here? Built from scratch, patented under my research. The fingers and palms can feel textures as small as a millimeter and simulate the detection of warmth and pressure. To the brain, there’s almost no difference. It’s like I still have hands.”

Sova frowns. “What about the other set? The ones you actually wear while fighting?”

Breach sets his hand back in his lap and shakes his head. “Same thing. Technology I helped invent and perfect, one-of-a-kind custom built by yours truly. The amount of neuroscience put into maintaining full control of those monsters is serious, millions of credits worth--if that gets into the wrong hands…”

The group looks between each other, uneasy. Jett begins helping Phoenix clean as they settle into a grim silence.

Finally, Raze pipes up, holding the last piece of her cannoli between two sugary fingers. “If they take my tech, maybe they’ll blow themselves up by accident. I can barely keep that shit from exploding when I make it. Good fucking luck!” She pops the (slightly too large) bite into her mouth and chews aggressively, dusting off her hands. “And hopefully good riddance,” she adds, words muffled by the food.

There’s a quiet chorus of agreement as the last of the trash is assembled, and the group start to stand, dusting themselves off. Sova steps close to the edge of the crumbing courtyard, stares out at the horizon. It’s twilight, now, the last fingers of sunlight cast across the world below. The wind whistles past his ears and he’s nauseous again for a second, forcing him to shut his eyes with a deep exhale.

“Vertigo?”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know Jett is by his side. “A little.”

There’s a gentle tug at his elbow, so he steps back, finally looking at her. “Don’t stand so close, then. Here, focus on me for a minute.” Her hand slides down to his, and she pulls it, guiding. “You still have some time, let’s walk.”

A loud noise catches Sova’s attention--the teleporter at the far end of the range comes to life with an electronic bang as Breach powers it up, plugging in the short-range coordinates to where their barracks float some ways away. Raze is animatedly telling a story of some kind to Phoenix, who isn’t really listening in favor of looking back at Sova and Jett with an unreadable expression. When he realizes he’s caught staring, he quickly turns back and says something to Raze before all three walk through the teleporter and vanish.

“Okay,” he accepts, and so they walk.

Jett is rarely expressive off of the battlefield--she had called it “resting bitch face” when the agents were making introductions. Even now, as she tugs Sova along hand-in-hand, her eyes betray nothing, but her posture is firm and her stride determined. She doesn’t make any attempt at conversation as they go. He’s oddly grateful.

The sun has set, and he finds himself thinking that moonlight suits her better. Her gray hair and pale skin are washed in the cool light, white as the driven snow. Here, nestled in the sky, Jett is perfectly at home. Sova wishes he could say the same.

“... Where are you taking me?”

She glances back at him. Her pace slows and she turns on her heel to walk backwards, but she doesn’t let go of his hand. “You have a look on your face that says you don’t want to be alone, but you don’t want to be somewhere loud. I thought we could just hang out in the shooting range before you have to make the call.”

He scoffs. “The shooting range isn’t loud?”

“Not if you’re throwing knives,” she says with a grin. It immediately falters. “You know how to throw knives, right? I’m kind of a shit teacher.”

“What, do I look like some kind of slav stereotype? You think I wear track pants and do squats in the middle of Siberia?”

Her eyes go wide, and she drops his hand. “Uh--”

“Of course I know how to throw knives, don’t embarrass me.” Sova winks and moves past her into the range.

Jett looks shocked for a moment then laughs and runs in after him.

* * *

Brimstone thinks he knows what’s going on in the supply closet. His hand hovers just above the handle and he squints at it, listening intently. The hallway is silent. He is patient. Seconds pass.

A hollow thump comes from somewhere inside, followed immediately by a moan, and  _ he definitely knows what is going on inside the supply closet _ .

_ Now, Brimstone _ , he thinks, closing his eyes,  _ you do not need to get yourself involved. These are the best mercenaries in the world, and they can do whatever they want so long as they fight professionally. You do not need to know who is involved with who.  _ He drops his hand, turning away from the door.  _ Wait it out, go call Sova, come back later. Be the bigger person. _ Inhaling deeply, he walks away down the hall.

_ … Fuck that, I’m a nosy old man. _ He marches right back up to the supply closet, squares his back, puts on his “disappointed dad” face, and opens the door.

Nothing could have prepared him to see Sage utterly disheveled, one leg awkwardly slung over someone else’s shoulder, her coat opened and her top hiked up to her armpits. Any view Brimstone would have gotten is blocked by labcoat-clad shoulders and a mess of black hair buried in Sage’s reddening neck. The poor chinese woman starts to swat helplessly at her suitor, her face redder than a tomato.

Equally shocking is when Viper turns around to see who could possibly be interrupting.

“Oh, don’t worry captain,” Sabine says around a mouthful of Sage’s neck. “Everything’s ready. Just give me… ten minutes?”

Brimstone arches an eyebrow. “You’ve got five.”

“She’s hard to please. Seven.”

Brimstone swears he sees Sage’s soul leave her body. He nods, warring internally in a valiant effort to keep a straight face. “Seven. Make sure you clean up after yourself.”

Viper hikes Sage’s leg back over her shoulder from where it had started to slip. “But of course.”

He shuts the door.

About three steps down the hall Brimstone hears a loud, muffled string of the angriest foreign swearing he has ever heard in his life and he has to clap both hands over his mouth to smother his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still a lot we don't know about Valorant, our agents, and the world they live in. Safe to say, because we're in the early stages of fandom, this fic will contain hefty amounts of both canon divergence and headcanon. You have been warned!
> 
> You might see me going back into this fic frequently to fix grammatical errors, typos, and syntax. As I go I would definitely appreciate both writing tips (as I am an obvious novice) and rereads, since chapters may change between additions! All comments and encouragements mean a lot, thank you guys for all your support thus far! I have no fucking idea what I'm doing!
> 
> Also, Sova is the best boy, which means I have to bully the shit out of him* for a few chapters. Please know it comes from a place of love and horniness for angst/comfort. 
> 
> *please do not bully the shit out of people you love I just wanna write a compelling story


	3. Crossing the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO YO WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SURGERY/GORE
> 
> If you wanna skip the yikes factor, start reading at the line break (just after “Well, shit.”) and there’s a recap for you so you don’t miss any important details.

“Cause of death is a bullet wound to the skull. The captain might be rusty, but he’s still a good shot, I suppose. Subject appears to be in otherwise healthy condition,” Viper remarks dryly. “Slight appearance of jaundiced skin in circles around the ankles, of all things, and rigor mortis has set in. Serial number tattooed on right heel, extending into center of the sole and ending just adjacent to the peroneus longus. It looks like the ink used to print it is beginning to break down--another fast-acting countermeasure to identification, but for now, it’s legible.” She lifts the foot a few inches off the table to squint at the heel. “AM-MK5-NIYAZOVA-0001829-06.” With surprising gentleness, she replaces the limb onto the cold steel and quickly walks back to the center of the table, still listing off various details to the recording comlink.

This room is frigid, of course, she had lowered the temperature considerably and told the man it was to buy them time--which was a half-truth, to cover up the fact that she needed the cold to keep herself focused. There wasn’t exactly time for a shower after her “extracurriculars”--the captain had mentioned sleep, but the lack thereof had been a non-issue for someone used to staying up for days at a time (although thinking back, she can’t exactly remember the last time she had slept... nor is it a chore she looks forward to).

Sova shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands hovering uselessly by his sides in case Viper finally asks him to do something. He’s antsy, and it’s annoying. From the way he’s moving his eyebrows, she wagers the elastic of the hairnet is irritating him, but the last time he reached to scratch it she tore into him about basic sanitation, so he dares not touch it again. 

They were working with organic material for chrissake, didn’t this guy hunt for a living? And with a cybernetic eye, you’d think he’d have some understanding of the need for cleanliness. _Pathetic_ , she thinks indignantly.

“Subject is a mirror copy of the Protocol’s scout. Musculature appears identical compared to its living counterpart, despite being fairly fresh as opposed to… ballpark late twenties.” Viper sniffs wetly, flexing her fingers and peeling back the semi-opaque tarp from the shoulders and rolling it downwards. When Sova doesn’t respond, she continues. “No obvious marks of any kind on the anterior, only indicative mark made apparent is a scar across the ethmoid and zygomatic bones in a cross section. Sova, do you have any birthmarks or tattoos…” she trails off upon seeing that, of course, Sova is paying no attention to her whatsoever.

He’s fixated instead on the fuzzy colors of the face hidden under the plastic covering--even doubling it over doesn’t hide the platinum blonde of its hair, nor the single black dot in the center of its forehead. Viper wonders if that augmented eye of his can determine the topography of the face under the plastic, and if that’s the case, whether it was worth covering it at all if it’s still going to be a hindrance.

Does Sova grieve for something that stole his face, his identity? _Pathetic_ , she thinks again.

“God, it’s hard to find good help these days.”

With a start, her assistant looks across the table to see Viper staring at him expectantly. He winces, and she struggles not to roll her eyes.

“Izvinite,” he says, hands twitching back up to attention. “What do you need?”

Wrong question. “What I need,” Viper says in the tone of voice one who hates children might use to speak to a child, “is to know whether or not you can pull your head far enough out of your ass to be of any genuine help. Or should I just send you back outside?”

Behind his surgical mask, Sova frowns (she can tell by the way he snorts out a little pouty breath). “I said I was sorry, Viper, let us move on,” he replies tersely. “What do you want me to do?”

“For starters, you can answer my question. Do you have any identifying marks or tattoos?”

He glances down, scanning the expanse of pale skin before reaching to point along the left arm. “I have a band around my bicep, a dragon. Scars as well, in different places.”

“They’re missing, then, aside from the ones around your eye.” Viper raises an eyebrow. “Anything on the back? Please say you have a tramp stamp.”

“I… don’t.” His cheeks flush slightly more around the edges of his mask. He definitely does. “I have wings on my back, shoulder to the base of my ribs. We should be able to see the edges even without turning the body. There is also japanese script on my right shoulder, six characters. Nanakorobi yaoki.” A pause to quietly clear his throat. “They are also absent.”

Viper hums for a moment, letting her fingers drift briefly along the border between plastic and skin. Satisfied, she then gestures at the tray of tools. “Give me that scalpel.” He obliges, setting the instrument in her outstretched hand. She takes it and moves to hold the skin above the navel in place before pressing the blade in. Sova swallows thickly at the prospect of what comes next.

“You once told me,” she says quietly, concentrating on moving her hand delicately along the body to create the first cut, “that you had hunted both humans and animals. I assume out in whatever tundra hell-pit you spawned in, that you butchered said animals yourself?” Viper finishes the cut and snaps in front of where he was staring at her hands. Their eyes meet. “This is just an animal. Don’t think about how it looks like you. If you can kill and cut other men, make this no different.”

“It _is_ diff--”

“It can’t be. Not if you want to stay in this room.” A silence settles between them, where something unspoken dies under her tongue. Perhaps he hears it anyway, in a sense.

One caged animal senses another--terrified, angry, cold.

The moment passes and she rips her attention away, returns to her work, her stare hardened. “Initial incision is easy enough,” she remarks firmly, raising her voice to continue dictating for the recording. Sova takes the hint and watches her hands as her thin fingers palpate the skin. “But what concerns me--in a body like this, that is made to decompose rapid-fire--there’s minimal pressure over the abdominal cavity. Typically organs that are rotting create a kind of organic pressure released by bacteria--can you hold this, I need to staple it.”

About as quickly as a deer in headlights, he peels back the skin where she indicates it and holds it in place. Viper quickly plugs in two staples, and indicates he can let go with a quiet utterance of _there you go, good_ . She begins to cut into the muscle, and asks him to grab the larger calipers to wrench the opening apart. It isn’t an easy task, and for the first time that evening (morning?) Viper is slightly grateful for the extra muscle. _Slightly_.

“The lack of pressure indicates one or more missing organs. There are some that in a clone can be removed, but not if it is meant to be sustained long-term. And given that this is higher quality, I’m expecting…”

Both mercenaries stare down into the cavity. Several seconds of silence pass.

“... My god…” Sabine breathes. “This is…. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

The cavity was filled--rather than the normal blood and gore that should be present--with a pinkish-white, wet-looking substance. After a moment of disbelief, she experimentally drags the flat of the scalpel along the surface. It doesn’t catch at first, the texture is that of oiled latex, but eventually it breaks--almost like marshmallow fluff, and the odor is only faintly chemical until the surface is perforated.

They both recoil, Sova taking a full step back where Sabine only gags. The russian chokes, struggling not to retch. “Hch--the smell--!”

“Ammonia--no, acetone--christ, what _is that_ \--” She fights the urge to take another deep breath, instead letting her eyes go wide. “Fuck, get out, quick! It’s toxic!”

Sova wastes no time, making for the door. Viper scrambles behind him, grabs onto the heavy steel door with both hands.

And slams it shut behind him.

_God, she’s such a fucking genius_. 

While Sova’s distracted gasping for clean air, she casually punches a quick sequence into the keypad by the door. There’s one on both sides, but unless he’s been sticking his nose where it shouldn’t be, Viper doubts he knows her override. What a chump!

“Lockdown protocol activated,” says the intercom in a happy little artificial voice. “Procedure will terminate in: Three. Hours.”

There’s a window into the surgical prep, giving her a front row seat to her comrade’s initial confusion as he watches her curl a lazy finger behind her ear, tugging off her mask. She takes a deep breath, just for show, and doesn’t deny the petty thrill of how Sova’s face goes from baffled to downright furious. It almost makes her regret not letting Cypher stuff a camera down her bra to catch the way his brows pinch and his face turns beet red.

When he starts yelling, muffled by the thick glass, Sabine just tilts her head back and laughs. Is this what it’s like to be a supervillain? She might just like the feeling. Power is intoxicating, after all, and toxic is her middle name. Speaking of which--

“WE HAD A DEAL!” Oh, joy, he’s found the intercom. It’s almost cute, the way he looks like he wants to snap her neck like a glow stick.

“You’re right, we did. And technically, I’m being nice and honoring most of it.” She crosses her arms, lips crooking up somewhere between a sneer and a smile. “I wasn’t lying about these fumes being toxic, it just matters a lot less to someone who’s immune to them.”

“I--you are so full of shit--”

“No, just chemicals. Lots of chemicals. Wow, this stuff is strong! They’ve definitely upped the ante since the last time I’d seen pthisid gel.”

  
  
Sova spits something with the intercom off, ripping away the protective headwear (only slightly wincing as the elastic of the mask yanks his ears). He’s still halfway sprawled across the bench, mostly kneeling on the floor. HIs hair is a flyaway mess, and he snaps off a glove to run a hand through it once before pinching across his temples. Is he crying? Wow. What a baby.

Oh wait, that’s just his eyes burning. Or is it? Sabine can’t quite tell.

Either way, she feels compelled to throw him at least a little bone. She toggles the intercom from her end, leaning down to stare through the window. “The only lie I told you was that I had never seen anything like this. Which actually is a half-truth. Unfortunately, I may have been a little too on-the-nose during the debrief.”

“Let me back--”

“I am only going to say this once,” she says cooly. “If you go running to the captain or anyone else, I will know, and I will kill you.”

He is silent, holding her stare. Sabine continues.

“First of all, you are fucking useless. And I mean _exceptionally_ useless. You don’t know your way around a morgue, you don’t know your way around these chemicals, you fidget, you whine, and I just don’t like you. The only way in which you can be useful to me, right now, is to sit here and watch me work, because the only reason I’d bring you back into this room is to put you on that table and cut you up to compare.”

A scowl crosses his face, but he doesn’t reply. Good, he trains quickly.

“Secondly, and this is the big reason: I have an agreement with Brimstone. Not you. And I’m going to violate that agreement, particularly in a way that doesn’t get your bitch tears anywhere near it. I don’t ask permission and I don’t expect forgiveness, but I’ll get results.” She turns on her heel, throwing her surgeon’s mask off to the side, and stalks back over to the corpse. “Wherever the hell this abomination came from, and whatever it’s made of, I have to know. And I will find out not only how it stood upright, but how it managed to nearly take off Brimstone’s hat while being stuffed full of an extremely volatile quick-rot substance that looks a hell of a lot like my work.”

The intercom never comes back on, and Sabine doesn’t bother looking to see Sova’s reaction (unnecessary). Now that her babysitter is out of the picture, she’s free to do as she pleases, and she is pleased by taking handful after handful of the spongy white substance and discarding it into a plastic tub (would it burn through if she left it? The old stuff did. Something to watch for).

If she was right, then whoever the hell made this little puppet was one of the same bastards behind her condition. This could be her one-way ticket to the revenge plot of her dreams. Like hell was anyone getting in her way now.

“Only a few organs are left at the back of the cavity: lungs, slightly larger than average but not by a large margin, and of course the diaphragm. The esophagus leads straight into the rectum, and looking at the inner arms I can confirm this creature took nutrients intravenously as opposed to eating. I’ll need to get inside the sternum in order to observe the heart properly…” Viper practically buzzes with a visceral thrill as she inserts her entire forearm inside the opening, gets a handle on what feels like costal cartilage, and _yanks_. With a chorus of wet snaps, a large chunk of bone slides free, which she discards onto the floor behind her (she’ll clean up later, nobody’s going to care).

A few more slices, and she’s pulling away the skin around the chest to reveal the clone’s heart. “It’s… smaller... than I expected.” Gently, she cuts the offending muscle free, holds it delicately in the light. “It’s already started dissolving. The left ventricle is entirely open and the aortic bridge is severely deflated. Looks like a sad, half-popped balloon animal. If I had more time, I’d go digging a little further, but this is fairly telling of the capabilities of whoever made this. All of these organs are designer, custom grown for a very specific purpose.” She drops it back into the cavity with little reverence, and her attention refocuses with something like hunger on where the head is still covered by the tarp.

“I need to see the brain.”

Viper isn’t quite sure why she glances back at the scrub station window, but she does. Sova is sitting on the bench by the door; she can see the back of his head. With any luck, he’s asleep or not listening. He won’t want to watch this next part.

Not that she cares if he does.

Viper had brought her only cherished holdover from her days working for corporate: a surgical saw, one she had sniped from her old lab after going under the knife herself. It was something she both despised and coveted, much like the rest of her past; a fitting keepsake. This wouldn’t be its first use following her departure, but it would certainly be the most thrilling thing it had cut into. To anyone else, it is just an ordinary electric autopsy saw.

To her, it is the key to the Kingdom.

She flicks it on experimentally, feels it hum to life in her hand, and the vibration carries through her bones and seems to rattle her skull with a promise neither of them can keep. Of course, business before pleasure, and she turns it back off in favor of grabbing an electric razor instead. The plastic peels away, and she gets to work.

It’s cathartic, shaving away clump after clump of platinum blonde. Before she brushes it all off the table, it almost looks like a little halo. Cute.

In a quick moment of forethought, Sabine grabs another sample cup and (with a little jimmying) pries the augmented eye from its socket. The other eye had been reduced to a lumpy puddle of jelly at this point, courtesy of that pthisid gel, but this one was more valuable anyway. If their enemies were really getting ahold of agent tech, this would be the biggest indicator of who and why.

She’d love nothing more than to dive right in, but Sabine takes her time in savoring the scientific process. Pulling a sharpie out of her lab coat pocket, she draws a dotted line straight across the skin of the forehead--it’s a formality at best, but never hurts to have a guide.

And now, the moment of truth. With bated breath, Sabine picks up her saw again and--

“Lockdown override. Access granted.”

She whips around as the door clunks open, just in time to see Sova stalk through the entryway. Apparently he’d made himself busy while she was distracted--of course he’d be technologically inclined, didn’t he say he built some of his gear himself? Including programming his sonic eye? That sneaky bastard, naturally he could find the backdoor coded into the lockdown. He’d brought his comm with him, told Viper it was in case of an emergency, but he must have seen her betrayal coming and was planning on using it to interface with the system from the start.

As if that weren’t enough the hunter managed to track down an oxygen tank from the medbay and now has the monstrous thing held in one hand. Of course, wielding something like that, there’s no need for any other weapon. She can’t see most of his face through the rebreather, but judging by the steely-eyed look of rage that is visible, the man is _very much inclined to fight_.

“Well, shit,” she says.

* * *

The sun lingers just under the horizon, turning the clouds into bruises under a hazy red sky. Brimstone braces slightly as the transport rounds another tight corner, trying his best not to move too much as he stares at the crashing waves and sheer cliff just a few feet away. Roads in Morocco have never made much sense to him, with the way they hug the cliff so tightly—but it’s not too different from Colorado, he supposes. Then again, he always slept through those canyon road trips as a kid.

His arms are set across his chest, one heavier than the other. Feeling their course straighten out for a moment, Brimstone looks down at where Raze is drooling against his shoulder.

Watching the young woman sleep brings a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. It had been obvious she wasn’t a morning person—or at least that she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, the way she dragged into the mission brief with plenty of yawning. Her usual smokey-eyed makeup was missing, and although her winged eyeliner was still present, it took Brimstone aback quite a bit to realize how young Raze is.

They had snagged her out of a French prison after a series of rather explosive vandalisms on Kingdom property. Word on the street was that this little girl had almost single-handedly chased the corporate giant out of the favela of Salvador before chasing them around the world, starting riots, painting provocative murals, stealing and distributing tech—anything somebody grassroots could do to spite the company. And for the most part, it worked.

Brimstone remembers reading her file and doing a double take at her age: 23. Raze had lit a fire under Kingdom’s ass before her 18th birthday, and kept it going all the way up until a month before they recruited her.

A breath puffs across his arm as she lets out a soft snort and nuzzles further into his sleeve, mumbling something incomprehensible before resuming her gentle snoring. The captain breathes out a near-silent laugh, gently shaking his head.

It could be so easy to forget that she was a brilliant revolutionary, the way she presented herself sometimes. But here—fresh-faced and still drooling in her sleep—is a humbling reminder of how displaced she really is. Brimstone wonders who Izabel would be, if Kingdom hadn’t torn her world apart from the very beginning. She’s just barely an adult now.

He could almost imagine it was somebody else, nestled against him. Part of him wants to be somebody else, too, someone he hasn’t been for a long time. Instead he just watches her for a few minutes, until he realizes exactly how soft he’s letting himself get.

_Raze isn’t your fucking kid, Mike. This is work_ , he berates himself. _She’s a hired gun, just like you. You know where your daughter is._

_At least, I hope I do._

Brimstone turns back to face the window as the scenery begins to change.

The mission debrief had filled them in on the state of “Bind”: once the beautiful city of Rabat, Kingdom had moved in a few years after First Light when a large vein of radianite had been detected underfoot. The corporation had convinced the people they would bolster the economy, provide jobs and improve the city without encroaching on local life. Rabat was sold on a better future, a bastion of science and technology in an oasis paradise. That promise went out the window about as quickly as Kingdom set up shop, replacing beautiful mediterranian homes with ugly mining infrastructure and gaudy modern construction.

Their path away from the cliffs rides up over a swell to turn inland, and the starkness of Kingdom becomes that much more apparent as the factories are juxtaposed against the pastel smattering of the town itself. The monolithic black structures in their line behind the city remind the captain of tombstones in a graveyard. _Here lies Rabat, and all her people_.

About three months ago, the radianite began to become unstable, putting a wrench in Kingdom’s operations and forcing the remaining occupants to flee for their lives. It had been a ghost town since, but reports had come in from the Protocol that Kingdom activity in the area was on the rise. More than likely they had sent in drones to carry out whatever work had been dropped in the scramble, but such an endeavor wasn’t cheap--the organization had to be up to something. Considering the city’s sordid history combined with the events in Italy, it couldn’t be good.

Brimstone looks back across the cab to do a quick headcount and catches Jett staring at him. She doesn’t look away, apparently unbothered by being spotted, and the rising sun lights up the cool gray of her eyes like chips of sea glass. The captain nods a greeting, to which she responds with a fleeting smile before turning her watch to where Raze is still fast asleep. Something hard lies in the way she stares at the two agents, and as much as he’d love to pry Brimstone takes the hint and moves on to check the rest of the team.

Reyna had called shotgun in favor of a little more privacy—next to the large black console housing the autopilot, he sees the heels of her boots propped up on the dash. Whether or not she was awake could be anyone’s guess, and if Brimstone were being honest, he’d rather not place his wager on either.

Cypher sits in place of the driver’s seat; were something to happen to the autopilot, he’d take the wheel. For now, he’s slouched into the pleather, the brim of his white hat pulled low over his mask. Best to bet he was asleep as well, given the way his head lolls with each twist in the road.

The surveillant had been particularly terse that morning while discussing Kingdom’s occupation of Rabat. Perhaps to an untrained eye he was calm as could be, but there was no mistaking the clench of his hands when Brimstone had brought up the corporation’s presence and the state of the city today. There was obviously something deeply personal there to get an iota of reaction out of Cypher, whose behavior was that of a true covert operator: rehearsed down to the heartbeat. While Brimstone knew better than to dig into another mercenary’s hidden history, he would definitely be keeping a closer eye on Cypher’s performance.

A large bump shakes the cabin and gives everyone a good jolt, sending Raze sprawling into Brimstone’s lap with a yelp. Jett’s head smacks against the window (he hears a thump followed by a quiet _ow_ ) and Cypher’s hat leaps from its precarious spot on his head to flop against the console.

“Pothole,” supplies Reyna. 

Cypher swats at her feet with a scathing hiss of insults, to which she simply snags his hat with her heel and kicks it into his face with a soft _fwap!_

“Oh my god, Brimstonzio, you should have woke me up! Do I drool that much?!” Raze laughs sheepishly as she scrubs at the wet spot on his sleeve, to which he just chuckles and waves her off.

“That’s the price I pay for dragging you out of bed at three in the morning, kid. Don’t sweat it, spit’s probably the least of what my fatigues see in a day.”

“Yeah, but it’s still kinda gross,” the bomber says, scrunching up her nose. “You could have at least poked me so I knew I was leaking. I don’t usually slobber… right?” She turns to her left. “Jett, do I slobber?”

The korean gives Raze a confused look. “Apparently? Why are you asking me? I’ve never seen you asleep before.”

Raze inhales to answer, then trails off halfway through the first syllable.

“Ohh, wait!” Jett snaps her fingers, face lighting up. “Yeah, you did pass out on the couch in the lobby after lunch on cleaning day. I don’t remember you drooling then, but I was busy trying to convince Captain Dad to let me draw on your face with a sharpie.”

“Wait, what?”

Brimstone casts a knowing look at Jett who waggles her eyebrows at him. “Might wanna watch where you sleep,” he warns Raze. “I told her anything after week one was fair game.”

Surprisingly, the brazilian’s face lights up. “Does that extend to all of us?” When Brimstone hesitantly nods affirmative, she steeples her fingers and turns back to face Jett. “What if I told you I know when and where Breach likes to catnap?”

This piques Jett’s interest in a rather grand way, judging by how the aerialist’s eyes flash before she schools her expression into something more diplomatic. “What exactly do you want in exchange for this information?”

“Immunity and inclusion,” Raze answers without missing a beat. “Next time you find somebody asleep, you call me first. I’ll share my colored markers.”

Jett narrows her eyes. “Permanent ink?”

Raze grins ear-to-ear. “Industrial grade.”

“Sold.” 

The two shake hands and immediately start whispering conspiratorially, interrupted only by the occasional giggle. Brimstone is suddenly more than a little nervous about falling asleep at his desk by accident, but makes no attempt to intervene. Breach was on his own against these two.

He’s fortunately distracted by his communicator pinging--now that his arm is free (and only slightly asleep as his circulation returns to normal), he can finally pull up his gauntlet and see who exactly had been sending him messages all morning.

> **2200 02_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> I would like to apologize for the inappropriate conduct you
> 
> found me engaged in last night. Rest assured I will NOT
> 
> allow it to happen again.

> **2348 02_03_2051 - AGENT 13 - NILSSON_ZBIGNIEW_BREACH**
> 
> OI CAP - DIDNT GET TO TOUCH BASE REGARDING SUPPLY
> 
> DROP - NEED TO MAKE LAST MINUTE CHANGE - SERVOS
> 
> MISSING FROM MY COMBAT ARM SET - LET ME KNOW IF
> 
> I CAN STILL ADD ON - GOOD HUNTING TOMORROW - Z

> **0330 03_03_2051 - KR-D0_4 - VON_BRAUN_ANIKA**
> 
> **_Warning: this message may contain proprietary information_ **
> 
> **_and will automatically delete itself 15 minutes after receipt._ **
> 
> hey capt buzzkill. noticed you didnt call nezzy last night + figured
> 
> youd want an upd8. shes stable but not entirely lucid atm.
> 
> would probably help to hear from you. k_poc should be in touch
> 
> w/ info on VALOP. dont forget to call your other kid too. still
> 
> your move! stay safe mr mike <3 KJXOX

> **0331 03_03_2051 - RD00_4 - VON_BRAUN_ANIKA**
> 
> **_Warning: this message may contain proprietary information_ **
> 
> **_and will automatically delete itself 15 minutes after receipt._ **
> 
> ps - no seriously, video call inez. like. asap. <3 KJXOX

The last two messages bring a small smile to the captain’s face, but the next several wipe it away immediately:

> **0417 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> Agents Sova and Viper have gotten into a fight and caused
> 
> each other extensive injury. We should not have let Viper
> 
> perform the autopsy.

> **0431 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> Neither were unarmed. Agent Sova was using an oxygen 
> 
> tank(?) and Agent Viper had an electric bonesaw(??). The 
> 
> injuries they have sustained align with this testimony.

> **0432 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> Agent Viper was knocked unconscious by a head injury. Most
> 
> likely from being hit with the oxygen tank.

> **0434 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> Evidently Agent Sova did not hit her. She slipped on bones(??) 
> 
> hitting her head on a metal tray and then the floor which is
> 
> what knocked her out. However, given that he dislocated his
> 
> left shoulder swinging the tank at her, as well as her broken
> 
> wrist, I am not inclined to believe him entirely.

> **0436 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> Agent Viper had mentioned prior to the fight that the body was
> 
> filled with a toxic substance that created a poison gas
> 
> when perforated. She is apparently immune. Agent Sova
> 
> is not. The room was locked and filled with this gas.
> 
> She was not expecting his resourcefulness or
> 
> confrontation.

> **0438 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> Fortunately Agent Sova had the good sense to drag Agent 
> 
> Viper out and immediately seek aid. She has since regained
> 
> consciousness and forced me to summon Agent Breach as 
> 
> she has attempted to instigate no less than three additional
> 
> fist fights with Agent Sova despite her own injuries.

> **0442 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> **Attachments:** [img_003.jpg] [img_005.jpg]

> **0437 03_03_2051 - AGENT 07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> My radiance will fix any minor afflictions, but Agent Sova’s 
> 
> shoulder and Agent Viper’s hand will mostly have to heal
> 
> on their own.

> **0445 03_03_2051 - AGENT_07 - NG_ BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> I am concerned for both of them for different reasons. I believe
> 
> Agent Viper has suffered a concussion from the impact. Agent
> 
> Sova is displaying symptoms similar to poisoning as well as
> 
> discomfort after fixing his dislocated shoulder.

> **0446 03_03_2051 - AGENT_07 - NG_ BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> The Protocol needs to bring a medical professional into our ranks
> 
> as soon as possible. My field training and radiance only cover so 
> 
> much.

> **0606 03_03_2051 - AGENT_07 - NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> They are in holding for now. I have restricted them to their rooms
> 
> until further notice. Breach is helping me observe Sova while I
> 
> am monitoring Sabine.

Brimstone sets his head in his hand and groans loudly.

“Sounds like someone owes me a nice new Frenzy.”

“Not funny, Cypher.”

“Can we spring for the couture collection? I’m feeling a little showy.”

Brimstone leers out from between his fingers. “No.”

The Moroccan just snickers, glancing around the seat at the captain. “A bet’s a bet. No need to be a sore loser, I’ll take my payment on the next drop if you can’t afford a pretty gun for me just yet.”

“How charitable of you,” grumbles Brimstone.

“I am known for my generosity,” Cypher preens. Next to him, Reyna scoffs, and he swipes at her legs again.

The american rolls his eyes. “A scholar and a saint, truly. I’ll see what I can do. Be grateful for whatever I give you that isn’t a black eye.”

Jett purses her lips and leans forward, glancing between the two of them. “What did you bet on?”

Brimstone furrows his brow, pulling the message panel back up on his communicator and reading through Sage’s messages again. “Irrelevant,” he mutters. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If it’s about the C-L-O--”

“ _Jett_.” The captain stops in the middle of typing a response to lean around Raze and shoot her a firm look of warning. “Drop it. That’s an order.”

He doesn’t bother watching her reaction, because he knows she’s pissed and that’s her problem. _She can learn to mind her own business,_ he thinks, punching out a response to Sage.

> **0610 03_03_2051 - AGENT 1 - YEATES_MICHAEL_BRIMSTONE**
> 
> **Replying to NG_BAI-HUA_SAGE**
> 
> THANKS FOR THE UPDATE. LET ME KNOW IF ANYTHING
> 
> CHANGES. I WILL SEND IMAGES TO PROTOCOL MEDIC
> 
> TO GET THEIR TAKE. I GIVE YOU FULL LEAVE TO YELL
> 
> AT VIPER ON MY BEHALF.

Finally opening the picture attachments, Brimstone hisses through his teeth: Sova’s covered in a number of deep-looking cuts across his forearms and face, and he certainly doesn’t feel well considering how pallid his complexion is. There’s no doubt those cuts are gone, courtesy of Sage, but she’s right to be concerned—the poor guy’s practically green. Hopefully Breach knows what to look for if that poisoning gets serious.

Viper, on the other hand, sports a massive bruise along the right side of her head and a split lip. Her right hand is in equally rough shape, with the wrist itself swollen to almost twice its size and mottled with purple and yellow. She must have broken some fingers as well, considering how bad it looks, but naturally Sabine looks less angry about the injuries and more about the circumstances around them, judging by the way she’s snarling at the camera.

With a begrudged sigh, he changes a couple of settings before typing out a second message to a different recipient.

> **TIMESTAMP NEGATED - COV BS1 - SARGE**
> 
> **TO: COV RN8 - VAMPIRE**
> 
> **_Warning: this message may contain proprietary information_ **
> 
> **_and will automatically delete itself 15 minutes after receipt._ **
> 
> **Attachments:** [img_003.jpg] [img_005.jpg]

> **TIMESTAMP NEGATED - COV BS1 - SARGE**
> 
> **TO: COV RN8 - VAMPIRE**
> 
> **_Warning: this message may contain proprietary information_ **
> 
> **_and will automatically delete itself 15 minutes after receipt._ **
> 
> MOST MINOR INJURIES HEALED. CONCERNS OF POISONING
> 
> FOR HUNTER AND POSSIBLE CONCUSSION FOR PANDEMIC.
> 
> OPINION?

Almost as soon as he sends it off, he hears a ping from the front of the cabin. Reyna’s heels disappear from view shortly after.

“Attention passengers,” chimes the autopilot. “We are approaching our destination: ZONE THREE. CODE. BIND. Please check your surroundings and ensure your departure from the vehicle is safe, as local reports have listed hazardous conditions. Thank you for choosing Epsilon as your transportation service, and have a nice day.” The ping sounds again, signaling the end of the announcement.

“I hate that thing so much.” Raze thumps her sneaker against the black plastic chassis of the computer, her lips pulled into a sneer. “Epsilon tech is so annoying! Why do they program everything with those freaky synthetic voices? Assustador como o inferno, e simplesmente feio.” She gives it another good kick before unbuckling her seatbelt to reach into the cargo space behind the seats. “At least Kingdom stuff doesn’t talk at you.”

Cypher switches the vehicle into manual driving and the steering wheel emerges from its hidden compartment. “Last I heard, Epsilon is shifting further into realistic humanoid AI for androids,” he comments, his gloved hands drifting across the pleather with practiced ease. “There’s discussion in the depths of the underground programming circle that they want to mass-produce bots for things other than security. Servers, customer service--things that take a more humanoid mind. If they succeed, it’ll be the most advanced artificial intelligence ever created!” He seems to buzz with excitement at the prospect, while Raze’s face is contorted with obvious discomfort. “I hear they even have a Lindholm on the project. One of _the_ Lindholms. If they’ve managed to snag a member of that particular engineering dynasty, it’s probably more than a rumor.”

“Great! More creepy talking bots. Just what the world needed.” Arm stretched across her chest, Jett’s sarcastic comment turns into a yawn halfway through. Raze unceremoniously dumps her equipment bag into her lap, smacking Jett in the face in the process.

Brimstone huffs out a quiet _ha_ , accepting his own bag when it’s offered. “World’s changing. We don’t know who’s gonna need what these days, since radianite’s changed the game.” He unzips the small black duffel, looking over the guns inside and procuring an unloaded Spectre from within.

“Radiants are the future. Epsilon’s ventures will end in nothing.” Reyna says cooly, voice muffled as she pulls her own bag from under her seat. “Even the brightest stars will fall someday.”

“Coming from a radiant,” Cypher remarks drily. “Quelle surprise.”

This elicits a sniff of feigned indignance from the duelist. “It’s not my fault you’re doomed to become obsolete just like your little gadgets, hermano,” she says airily, cocking her shotgun experimentally. The Bucky clicks as she pulls the trigger, empty of shells, but enough to underline her feelings on the subject. “The only thing those robots will do is slow the inevitable. Those with the gift will rule in time. It’s simple Darwinism.” Reyna smiles, all teeth. “If you have any objections to your place on the food chain, I can help speed things along. Wouldn’t be a problem after that, hm?”

Cypher flexes his fingers around the steering grip, but answers calmly. “You wouldn’t want to eat me, sahira. There’s not much meat left.”

“Pity.”

“Kifayat min dhalik, we’re here,” the man calls, bringing the transport to a stop. 

They’re on the outskirts of the city itself, and the roads are visibly in disrepair--covered with dust from a recent storm, from the looks of it, but the air is eerily still. Even Brimstone feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end: they are trespassing.

He shelves the nerves for later and emerges from the truck with a groan, rolling his neck and shoulders. Most of the others follow suit, stretching after hours of confinement with quiet noises of appreciation. Jett even jogs a quick lap around the transport before Brimstone whistles for them all to get in line.

“Okay kids, I know you know the plan, but let’s go over one more time,” the captain calls, scanning the group as they do a final gear check. “Bind’s been evacuated for a few months, so there’s no civvie risk to our knowledge, but don’t go nuts on the collateral, _Raze_. We’ve got a short-range EMP meant to shut down Kingdom’s bot activity in the area. Unfortunately they’ve been doing a good job covering their tracks on whatever they’re doing, meaning we don’t have an estimate on how much resistance we’re facing. Eyes and ears are the name of the game.

“Cypher’s got the package, Reyna’s on escort. You two are walking ten kilometers into the city looking for the heart of the operation, somewhere towards Kingdom’s mess. The address of the lab we think is the center of their activity is marked on your huds, but change your plans if you think it’s inaccurate.” The two agents share a pointed look, but say nothing, so Brimstone moves on.

“Jett, it’s you and me on the flank. You’re taking left, I’m heading right, and then we move parallel with the package. We’ll be heading in before those two do by a quarter of an hour, which means it’s on us to scout. You see a bot, you call it out, got it?” She nods, adjusting her grip on her Phantom. “That goes for everybody,” he addresses the line firmly. “Do not take unnecessary risks, and _do not engage_ unless it’s life or death. These things operate on a hive mind, which means one goes down and the rest come running. We’re not looking to trip the alarm if we don’t have to. Which brings me to my final point,” he says, turning to Raze, who is already grinning like a child and bouncing slightly on her toes.

“Raze.” He says, eyebrows raised.

“Me!” Raze giggles quietly.

Brimstone continues unfazed by her enthusiasm. “You’re bringing up the rear, because you’re our insurance policy. If someone up ahead manages to alert the bots, you make some noise. Failing that, you bail us out with everything you got, but only if I give you the signal. Until then, for all of us, it’s stealth only. Understood?”

A hand raises. “Question, jefe.”

This takes him slightly by surprise. “Shoot.”

Reyna lowers her fingers to play with her earring for a moment, gaze level on the captain. “What should we do if we encounter another doppelganger?”

Brimstone frowns. “That’s a bridge we’re gonna have to cross if and when we get there. Expect the unexpected--the golden rule here is, something takes a shot at you, you take a shot back and call it out.”

She tilts her head slightly, a small smile playing across her lips. “We shoot to kill, then?”

“Do what you wanna do in the moment. I told the rest of you at the debrief, we’re probably bound to see more of these clones at some point. If you think you can bring it home alive, you’re more than welcome to try, but I wouldn’t bank on it. The… the last one,” he says haltingly, thinking through his words, “was still as good a shot as any of us. I just happened to be better, and not by a large margin. If I find another clone myself, it’s coming back in a body bag. Make sense?”

Appeased, she nods once. The other agents seem to fidget uneasily, gauging each others’ reactions, but no one says anything else on the matter.

They quickly roll through their communicator check, each agent saying their call sign over the airwaves (everyone collectively winces when Brimstone’s own check comes in too loud) and with that, he and Jett each pick a path and set out into the crumbling city.

The further in he gets, the more unnerved Brimstone feels. Every passing street is empty, and not even a breeze stirs the air. Only the crunch of sand and stone underfoot makes sound. There are no tracks left, no evidence of any kind of life--he would have thought rodents or insects or some kind of animal would settle in, but there’s absolutely nothing.

It’s too quiet.

_For a place so freshly abandoned, Bind is truly falling apart_ , Brimstone thinks. He carries his Spectre at the ready as he rounds a corner through an old, decrepit side street, and carefully steps through a collapsed wall into an adjacent courtyard. _Exactly what was going on here?_

Whatever it was, the people left in a hurry. Shops are left half-shuttered, their counters caked in sand. Cars dot the side streets, some with their doors ajar as if the occupants had to make a run for it. Some of the walls have faded murals painted across them, and others have fresher, incomplete graffiti. As he follows a mural of weaving vines up the side of an apartment building, a tiny teddy bear gazes back from its seat on the edge of a window sill. Brimstone briefly wonders who’s missing their friend.

There’s more than just graffiti along the buildings--the first thing that gets his attention is the plethora of anti-Kingdom posters that had been plastered so densely he almost mistakes it for wallpaper. It’s not just in one spot, he realizes: the entire alley was covered wall to wall in them. Experimentally, he peels one off to examine closer.

The paper is yellowed and the red ink sunbleached, and Brimstone can barely make out that the poster itself is in arabic. But the picture on the rest of the page is unmistakable: a rat caught in a cage, its face contorted in a silent scream.

For whatever reason, the captain folds the poster and shoves it into a side pocket on his ammo bag. Perhaps Cypher can supply more information, if he’s willing.

His comm crackles before Jett’s voice comes through, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. “Uhh, Brim? We have a problem.”

After a quick exhale and a muttered curse, he taps the voice toggle on his earpiece. “I’m here, what’s the issue?”

“I’ve got bots here. Several of them, actually,” Jett says.

“Well, stick to the plan--”

“ _In pieces,_ cap. Several very colorful pieces.”

Wait, what? “Raze, do you copy?”

“She was with alpha team at the drop,” says Reyna, sounding skeptical. “We just--”

“Are you Raze?” Brimstone snaps, suddenly scanning his surroundings for any signs of paint. “Izzy, talk to me.”

There’s a pause, and the sound of a comm coming to life for a second before turning off again.

“Raze?” he calls again. “Raze, I need you to answer so I know you’re there.”

“I’m here,” she replies. Her voice is shaking. “I’m here, I hear you. Still at the drop, waiting for go-- _oh, fuck_ \--”

Brimstone dips into a doorway, scanning to make sure it’s clear before he stops to respond. “Hey, kid,” he starts, voice low. “Take a breath. It’s going to be okay, we know what to do, right?” 

She doesn’t answer. 

He adjusts his grip on his gun, turns the corner, and starts running down the way he came. “I’m going back,” he pants, vaulting through the destroyed wall and picking up speed through the alley. “Everyone else, stick to--”

“No!” Raze yells, and he skids to a stop. “No, don’t, I’m okay, I’m okay! I just--me dê um segundo, I’m fine.”

He frowns, doubting. “You sure?”

“Yeah! Yeah, no. Can I move in? Please?”

“No, you can’t,” Brimstone commands. “We’re still sticking to the plan, and that means you stay put. Update on hostiles, guys, eyes and ears out for bogey agents. We don’t know how many are out there, but we can plausibly confirm one--if that’s what this even is.”

“No, this is definitely a Raze.” Jett doesn’t seem all that phased, considering the implications. “I’d know the smell anywhere. It’s like burnt plastic and gunpowder.”

“They got my acrylic packs?” The bomber sounds so quiet, Brimstone could swear it’s someone else on the line.

“Yeah. Yeah, they’ve got ‘em.” The comm goes quiet for a moment. “… Are you sure you’re okay, Izzy?”

The captain doesn’t let her answer. “Focus up. Keep an eye out for signs of movement. There’s not a lot of tracks left after that last dust storm, and if there’s paint, there’s probably footprints. Cypher, Reyna, ETA to target?”

“We’re on schedule, but there’s a blockade ahead. Looks like there was some rioting before the evacuation,” Cypher reports. “We’re trying to find a way through, but it could take some time.”

“Oh shit, you guys saw it too? I thought it was just on my end, I’m already up and over.”

Brimstone sighs, moving back through the courtyard he’d passed before. “We can’t all fly, kid. Jett, new task. Are you near any kind of tall buildings?”

A pause as she looks around. “I’m getting close to a--a crane of some kind? The target’s just a short ways from here.”

“Good. Get to the top of that crane and look for a way through for alpha team, or failing that… you ever driven a crane before?”

Jett laughs. “Nope!”

“Well then, today’s your lucky day. If you can’t see a way through the barricade, you make one.”

“And the reason we aren’t letting our demolitions expert do that is…?” asks Reyna.

With his knife, Brimstone busies himself with jacking open a door to an office building. “Because we’re currently on the lookout,” he grunts, shouldering his way in, “for someone identical.” Once inside, he spots an open archway leading to a stairwell and starts climbing. “How--would you feel--if we shot--the wrong Raze?” he pants.

No response comes over the line, so Brimstone moves on, still ascending. After eight stories worth of stairs, he finally reaches his goal: the roof.

The view would be pretty, if he had the time to pay attention to aesthetics. Catching his breath, Brimstone scans the skyline for the crane and spots it in the distance--and grins at the familiar blue and white dot at the top. He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a small object, and holds it above his head.

The mirror catches the light as he turns it in his hand. “Hey, Jett, on your right.”

It takes a second, but he can just make out an arm waving at him in the distance. “I see you!” She calls.

“Good. See anything else from up there?”

“Kinda. Signs of the fake heading towards alpha team, but nothing that looks recent.”

Brimstone frowns. “You catch that, alpha team?”

… Silence.

“Reyna, Cypher, do you copy?”

Three short blips of the comm line toggling on and off. They’re running silent. They’ve got hostiles nearby.

“Shit,” the captain hisses. “Shit shit shit.”

Jett comes in again. “Raze? Raze, did you leave the drop?!”

Brimstone’s heart plummets into his stomach. He whips around, scanning the streets and buildings below for any sign of movement. “Raze, status, now!”

“If you think I’m going to sit on my fucking thumbs while my copy runs around killing mi familia,” the bomber snarls, “then you can go fuck yourself.”

With that, the line goes dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I got a twitter so yall can tell me how bad my writing is! Come find me at @hotlegfryegg and uh, I don't know. Yell at me for not uploading a chapter in three months.
> 
> In all seriousness, I have re-written this part of the story no less than three times. That's where that delay came from! Sorry about that! Surprisingly, Valorant has a LOT of lore--I'm trying to find how much I can be compliant with without changing everything, and how much I can get away with changing without it sounding out of place. This whole thing is an experiment in striking the balance, so bear with me.
> 
> I am giving the agents who do not have names in confirmed canon names here. They will be wrong, I will not care (and by that I mean I'll change it once their names are confirmed but please let me have this).
> 
> Get ready for another dry spell, guys!
> 
> EDIT BECAUSE I FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART:
> 
> THANK YOU ALL!!!!!
> 
> I’m not being facetious when I say that all the kudos and sweet comments CARRIED ME through writing this chapter. I’ve been having a very hard time due to health and financial issues and every. single. one. of your comments has gotten me out of bed at some point. From the bottom of my black, shriveled heart: thank you!!!


	4. Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains--you guessed it--gore, violence, and depictions of serious injury. Do NOT read this chapter if this is a trigger for you! The next chapter will summarize the major events of this one.
> 
> For all those unfazed by a little human goo, I wish you good luck.

Time is seldom on anyone’s side. It can flow like quicksand when you wish the minutes would pass by faster, it will race away as you try to drag your feet and make a moment last, and to say nothing of the instances where time will plant its heels in the ground and bring your world to a grinding halt.

When Brimstone hears the first gunshot ring out, time stands perfectly still.

“I didn’t see anything,” comes Jett’s panicked voice in his ear. “I didn’t see where that came from, _shit!_ ”

He feels every part of him freeze in place.

Everything is going wrong.

Which means it’s time to default to the only answer he has left. Captain first, human later. Follow the steps, ignore the way his teeth grind and his shoulders tense up, do his job and save his team, one foot at a time. Like an old car, the manual kind, he feels that infallible part of himself sputter to life and roll through his bones with a shudder.

_Breathe with me, kiddo. In, out. What’s the motto? Say it, like I taught you. Good. Now, let’s try again. You ready?_

Brimstone inhales deeply, taking in the smell of steel and dust and fear before he blows out a long, steady exhale. His finger glides across the smooth plastic of his earpiece a second too long, but he follows through. “Jett,” he calls, voice free of uncertainty, “I need you to smash the barricade ASAP. Make us a path.”

Playbook time.

Firstly, take stock. _Bogey confirmed. Two team members engaged and running silent, status unknown. One agent operating rogue. Two agents on task but out of range._

He watches as the blue dot starts to descend from the crane, gracefully weaving around the steel arm. “You sure?” Jett probes, breathless.

Two more gunshots pierce the air, followed by the dull thud of a concussive. _Shots fired from what sounds like a semi-automatic rifle. High potential for wall and/or armor-piercing rounds. Mid-range._ _Reyna’s carrying a shotgun, Cypher has a silenced pistol. That rules out alpha team, as well as yourself, and Jett, who is carrying a full-auto._

“Positive,” the captain affirms.

Brimstone wheels around back into the stairwell, running down the steps with such force that the slam of his rubber soles echo with an aching volume that seems to shake the concrete walls all the way to the ground. _Raze didn’t bring a Guardian, she brought a Bulldog. Full-auto. Only remaining possibilities are hostile parties, either bots or bogey._

_Something tells me,_ he thinks grimly as he makes his way back into the street, breathless, _it ain’t the bots._

Now, address controllable variables. Brimstone toggles the comm line again as he slows to a walk, scanning the road for paint or footprints. “Raze, still got your ears on?”

The line comes to life for a split second, but the bomber doesn’t respond. _At least that means she's probably listening. Take it as a win._ “To everyone who can hear me, keep making your way to target. I’m heading north through… okay, street signs are in arabic, right. I’m about five minutes from the barricade. Stay sharp, we don’t know if it’s only one bogey.” 

He picks the pace back up to a brisk jog, passing through a dusty plaza littered with more anti-Kingdom flyers. A decimated Kingdom drone lies in pieces in a corner, nothing left but a crumpled red chassis framed by splashes of sky blue paint that make the captain’s skin crawl.

As he keeps moving into the city, the flyers are becoming denser and denser, he notes with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was just unnerving, knowing that these papers were the precedent to a number of crimes committed by the corporation. Nearly every wall of this ghost town was wallpapered in red flags, the face of the caged rat screaming from all angles like the harbinger of a plague. Someone put these here—put all of them everywhere, how long ago? How many people were left who could say?

But Brimstone would be a liar if he said they weren’t useful as a guide. The sheer quantity of papers is like a neon sign pointing him to the center of the labyrinth, to his goal.

The minutes pass by in a blood-curdling silence. No sound comes from the comms, nor from the streets, save for the crunch of the captain’s boots in the sand and the thunder of blood in his ears. Even though his panic is suppressed, Brimstone is still hyper-aware of everything: the sweat under his gloves around the stock of his gun, the way the air from his mouth puffs across each hair of his mustache, the color of the sun hitting the golden sand and umber walls and green peeks of flora taking footholds in the crevices. Tinnitus stands on the precipice of the void. It’s as if his ears _want_ to ring.

More and more drones appear around each and every corner, all fortunately inactive, but each dispatched in a way that makes Brimstone grit his teeth. Gunshots from strange angles that might only be achieved from up close and overhead, metal ripped to scrap by concussive force and caked in fresh pigments, puffs of color across the walls where smoke had been dyed orange and green—hallmarks of his coworker, and yet these aren’t her fingerprints. They can’t be, because while this carnage was being done, the real Raze was still drooling on his shoulder, and he’s got the spit stain to prove it.

The grip on his Spectre tightens, and he forces another steady exhale through his lips. The barricade shines at the end of the road, a beacon lit by the rising sun—but Cypher failed to mention that the wall wasn’t a pedestrian construct. Solid concrete breakers slotted perfectly together form a looming gray barrier, reaching high enough to make climbing over impossible. Their surfaces are stark, almost clean in comparison to the rest of the sand-blown city, and yet a poster or two still cling to their polished faces near the bottom.

Brimstone comes closer, enough to see that the street a short ways away has been torn up by some kind of ballistics. He crouches down to examine the damage, letting his fingers drift across the dusty asphalt, and the angle of the bullet holes is undeniable:

The shots came from on top of the wall.

_When_?

“—Captain! Do you read me?” Cypher’s voice is strained, but it sends a wave of relief through Brimstone all the same.

He presses into his earpiece, scanning the streets for any sign of movement. “Loud and clear, Cypher. Thought I lost you there for a minute. What the hell happened?”

“What happened is—nnghk—,” the other man hisses, breathing heavily across the line. “The clone set up an ambush. I got hit but managed to get through the—the barricade. It’s just sand for about a kilometer, and... then Kingdom.”

Jett chimes in with a huff of laughter. ”Cool, I can’t figure out this crane shit anyway. I’m on my way to you, spy kid, so don’t die before I get there. Turn on your tracker.”

Brimstone leans against a rough stucco wall, glancing at the clock on his gauntlet. 0758. They’re still on time. “Where’s Reyna?”

A sigh over the line. “No clue.” Sounds of shuffling accompanied by a loud grunt of pain follow and Brimstone frowns at Cypher’s obvious discomfort. “We were separated when the monster—threw a damn grenade. A grenade! At my face! The absolute cretin!”

_That’s not good. I’m not sure who’s worse off—the clone, or the vampire._ “Alright, you said you got hit. Where are you now, and how soon do I need to come find you?”

“I’m safe... for the moment,” the response comes muttered through Cypher’s grit teeth. “I’m in a public bathhouse, j-just a ways from the target. My left arm was shot, but— _ahh_ —it looks like it went through. Lucky me.” More shuffling, then a soft thud, and a quiet noise of exertion. “I’ve managed to make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but I’ll need a moment to... reset... before we p-proceed.”

With a snort, Brimstone shakes his head, pacing absently back the way he came. “For a man who just got shot, a moment is the least—”

The sound of a shotgun blast stops Brimstone in his tracks. It’s close. Fuck, it’s close, maybe a block north along the wall. A second, then a third pierces the air, and very distantly, Brimstone can hear yelling.

_Reyna._

Before he even registers the motion Brimstone’s broken into a sprint toward the sound, boots pounding against the concrete as fast as he can run. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead—the heat’s starting to get to him, he thinks—and it gets in his eyes as he desperately scans down every alley until the yelling starts up again. Skidding against the sand, he takes an immediate right, just in time to catch a furious shout of “ _Vuelve a dispararme, puta, y veremos quién muere primero!_ ”

A large chunk of the barrier had been broken off, and in the opening, the captain can make out the silhouette of Reyna balancing in the crevice, shotgun aimed at something beyond the wall. She looks to be in one piece, thankfully, but he can sense her fury from where he stands nearly twenty yards away.

“Que pasa?” he calls to her, still winded from running. “Est… _haah_ … estoy sorprendida... de que no... haya muerta todavía....”

Reyna lowers her gun but doesn’t turn, still glaring out over the desert. “Ella solo se escapará una vez.” She hops down out of the crevice onto the other side of the barricade, turning just enough to glance at Brimstone sidelong. “You were right. It’s just as good as the real one.”

The captain leans through the gap, squinting at the harsh light as they emerge from Rabbat’s shadow. A trail of white and blue leads out across the distance and the silhouette running towards the other half of the city wavers, a black dot warbled by the humid coastal air.

“Must be, if it’s still alive.”

Metallic scraping follows steel-tipped fingernails across the concrete as Reyna seethes. “Only because my weapon is short-range, is it still breathing. Hurt and angry, but not dead yet.” Her tongue flashes out to run across her teeth, and she stares as a leashed dog looks at a wounded bird. “It is a _perfect_ copy. I wonder if it bleeds the same,” she whispers.

Brimstone shudders involuntarily as pure hunger rolls off Reyna in waves, cloying the hot air around them with unnecessary new tension. If the vampire senses his reaction, she makes no sign, fixated on her goal until it disappears from both their visions and vanishes into Kingdom’s edge. The captain takes a moment to mop the sweat from his eyes with a heavy hand, huffing out a sigh of disgust before tapping his earpiece again.

“Heads up, kids, it’s coming your way. Good news is, it’s not in one piece, so keep your eyes and ears—”

“Can you _stop_ ,” an interloper spits across the comm, “calling her _it_.” 

A bitter laugh leaves Brimstone’s mouth before he can stop it, a bubble of panic that breaches the surface for but a moment. “Make you a deal, Raze: rendezvous with the group, and we’ll call _her_ whatever you want.”

“Don’t fucking test me, man, I am _not_ here for this bestiera!”

Someone interrupts with a begrudged groan. “Okay, chill your shit girl—”

“Can it, Jett!” Brimstone snaps. “Raze, you wanna play the game, you play by my rules, caspice? I’ll give you two choices: you can either turn your damn tracker back on so we know where you are, or I can hunt you down and throw you hog-tied in the back of the transport while the rest of the team takes care of this. Choose _now_.”

“You can go fuck youraaaAAUGH!”

Before anyone can panic, a snide, smoky voice comes into their ears: “Got you.”

_Cypher, you brilliant son of a bitch_ , the captain thinks, fumbling to quickly pull up the satellite map on his gauntlet. A bright yellow dot flashes in and out some two blocks away, mostly stationary.

“Did—I don’t—you— _you_ —!!” Brimstone can vaguely hear Raze’s screech of fury in the distance as it echoes down the empty streets.

“Why yes,” the surveillant purrs (albeit with some strain), “I did shoot you with a tracking dart. Single-handed, while bleeding out in a decrepit bathroom, with a clone running around trying to kill me. But please, save your praise for after we’re home. Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you, Izzy.”

The long, biting chain of swearing that comes over the air gives the captain a moment to sigh a long, rattling sound of relief into his palm. He glances over at the hole in the wall to see Reyna’s left him, in favor of pursuing the clone most likely. He sags against the rough stucco briefly to let the panic drain from the line of his shoulders.

It strikes the captain, as he looks up into the narrow slice of blue offered by the alleyway’s claustrophobic skyline, that Cypher’s ulterior motives might not all be selfish. Raze might be pissed as hell, but now they knew where she was, and that she was alive. The man could have waited for Raze to give herself away, or simply reported where she was over the line, but shooting her with a camera dart both ensured she couldn’t travel undetected in another direction before someone got to her, and it took her focus off of the copycat. Only one kind of mindset would utilize that level of care, in Brimstone’s experience.

“—and then I’m gonna paint a dick on your fucking headstone you two-faced piece of—“

“Okay, you have the ride home to finish that thought, Izzy,” he interjects, toggling the override on his gauntlet to mute her microphone. The tracker’s still in, apparently, so he sets off down the street, heading back the way he came. “Reyna’s coming to rendezvous. Once I get Raze, I’ll meet up with you. Brimstone out.”

As Cypher and Jett reply in the affirmative, the silence that follows doesn’t have nearly as much gravity—nor does it last, as the sound of someone furiously kicking a wayward garbage can bounces off the city walls. Raze is indeed righteously angry. Brimstone comes into view just in time to watch her give the poor thing another mighty wallop with her foot, sending the can careening across the street with a rattle like a broken snare drum. 

The force of the action causes the girl to stagger backward as the can slides away, causing her to fall almost comically onto a bench at an awkward angle that makes the captain hiss through his teeth.

Raze, after a moment of self-pity, scrapes herself into a more dignified sitting pose, not without a chorus of what Brimstone guesses are colorful portugese expletives. She’d heard his reaction—he could tell by the way she chooses to focus on the toes of her boots rather than the only other person in the vicinity. Less a hardened rebel, more a petulant child.

She was alive enough to be mad, and that’s nothing but a relief if Brimstone is being honest. His pace slows to a walk and slows further until he’s standing squarely in front of his runaway cadet, taking full stock of her condition.

Her fingers are shaking, he notices, but she doesn’t dare look up at the captain’s face. One arm cradles the other, and a bulky steel round juts from the exposed skin of her shoulder, circled by blood that’s already begun to clot. No music thuds from her headphones, and so there’s nothing to hide the way her breath stutters.

_Like a kid outside the principal’s office_ , he thinks.

Letting out a soft sigh, Brimstone moves behind the bench and sets a hand on Raze’s unharmed shoulder, and squeezes when she doesn’t shrug him off right away. “Deep breath, kid. This is gonna suck.”

“Already does,” she mumbles wetly, bracing herself.

Keeping the hold on her steady, the captain takes as much of the dart in his hand as he can and _yanks_. Cypher did not build these with the intent for them to be removed easily or painlessly, and a chunk of flesh tears away along with the needle, forcing a cry of pain from Raze. Brimstone immediately presses his palm over the wound, tossing the dart aside and fumbling with one of his many side pockets until he finds his bullet trauma kit.

Raze accepts the tiny box with her free hand, popping it open in her lap. She hesitates, and it takes Brimstone a second to realize she’s waiting for instruction. “Pass me a gauze piece first. I can’t apply the biofuser until the bleeding’s stopped or it’ll just melt off,” he says softly.

She pulls a paper packet out of the box and rips it open with her teeth before handing it back to the captain, who pulls out the cotton and presses it in place with a pressure far too practiced for his liking. “Atta girl.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Brimstone asks with feigned surprise.

“Just—just don’t, okay?” Raze spits into the dust, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Just don’t.”

The captain’s other hand moves back to pat her shoulder, and he nods. “Okay,” he comforts. “Okay.”

Raze snaps the plastic kit in her lap shut. She opens her mouth, then closes it to rethink, and then opens it again. “I just… I don’t—why me? How?? Why is any of this—who would—?”

“Speculating isn’t gonna do us any favors,” Brimstone calmly derails her train of thought, adjusting his hand briefly. “I’m pretty sure you and Sova could trade theories at this point, and Jett too, but—“

“They got Jett?” she balks, attempting to crane around and look at him. “When?!”

He presses Raze’s shoulder back down as she immediately regrets the sudden movement with a whine. “Dunno,” the captain replies with a slight chide to his tone. “Phoenix got in a fight with her and came out the other side into what’s left of Venice. I’m not at liberty to say myself since I wasn’t there, but according to Jett, neither was she.”

“Ohhh, _fuck_ ,” she gasps. “Do you think—“

“No.” It’s as firm as he can manage without sounding forced. “If this one wanted Rabbat in pieces, it would be already. She got here before we did.”

“Do you… she got here first, took out the bots,” Raze mutters, gripping the trauma kit tightly. The tips of her fingers squeak against the plastic. “Did she know we were coming?”

“Guessing only makes us worry over shit we can’t know for sure,” says Brimstone, lifting his hand and gingerly peeling the gauze away. “What we can do, and will, is use what we know now to take control of the situation. That’s why I like knowing _where you are_ during a _mission_.” He gently presses around the sides of the wound, before replacing the gauze and resuming pressure. “Makes my job a hell of a lot easier.”

A beleaguered sigh rings out into the empty street. “My bad,” she says.

Without acknowledging, the captain resigns to patching Raze up in silence. She winces at the cold, slimy biofuser gel, but doesn’t complain. Giving her shoulder a couple of experimental rolls to test the now-tight skin and finding it satisfactory, she snags her gear off the bench and stands awkwardly at the ready, waiting for him to put the kit back in his pocket. 

This is an uneasy situation—Brimstone didn’t exactly _forgive_ her previous spree—but he doesn’t leave her to toe the dusty road long before he gives a motion for her to follow, and they set off to follow their team across the expanse of sand.

Beating like a pulse, the rising sun over Bind has become an oppressive heat outside the shadow of the city. They’re far enough inland to lose the coastal breeze, but it somehow manages to be humid. As they slog over the loose ground, Brimstone can hear rushing water in the distance—a canal? It would certainly explain why it feels like they’re breathing gravy out here. He’s never done well with humidity.

He sneaks a glance back at where Raze tags along, completely sweatless. Naturally this is nothing to a girl from an ocean city like Salvador. The captain is likely the only one out of his element. Although all had gone according to plan and Sova had come along, this might not have been the case. Brimstone doubts that a thick blue cape and fur-lined hood would have done the hunter any favors in this heat.

Sourness spreads in his mouth at the thought of _why_ the hunter isn’t here. God knows they could use another level head right about now.

They reach the edge of the expanse, coming to a rocky ledge that drops into what likely used to be a lovely courtyard. Brimstone hops down first, scanning the powder-blue walls around them for any signs of paint or debris. Raze’s feet thud into the clearing next to him, and she takes a few cautious steps forward to examine the dusty, star-shaped fountain in the corner. Neither says anything, ears still keen for any sign of the clone or their allies.

Like the shotgun blast that comes from the other side of the alley.

Raze is off in an instant, gunning for the source of the noise at a sprint. It’s all the captain can do to stumble into tow behind her, beg her to stop at the top of his lungs, try to run faster and catch her before she can get caught in the crossfire. She’s going to get shot _she’s going to get shot—_

A white coat emerges from the left and all but tackles the girl, wheeling into a stumble before pushing her back down the alley. Saving grace in the shape of Cypher wraps Raze with a single arm, the other in a makeshift sling made from ragged cloth—a towel from the bathhouse he had mentioned before. Muttered comforts disappear under Raze’s shouts but the captain can hear them said anyway. Even with one arm, Cypher holds her with a fervor that tells Brimstone everything he needs to know.

Raze starts _screaming_.

The captain swallows around where his heart has risen into his throat.

A dark figure emerges from the right. Reyna stares ahead, hand still tight around the smoking shotgun, face unreadable. She mutters something under her breath, then shakes her head before turning to watch her teammates struggle.

“Jett?” Brimstone probes quietly, coming to a stop next to the empress.

“Vomiting by the lab, around the corner.” With a huff, she cards a hand through her hair. Her head turns, angling closer to the captain’s ear without looking away from Raze as the girl drops to her knees, wailing into Cypher’s jacket as he descends with her.

“Get her out of here,” Reyna whispers. “It’s still breathing.”

Brimstone turns to look.

Oh, _god_ , he shouldn’t have.

The screams of the young woman to his left quiet just enough to pick up the gurgling whimpers on his right. It lays slumped at an awkward angle, cradled between the dirt of a planter and the wood of a latticed window. A piece of green armor lies crumpled, closer to Brimstone—a chest plate if he had to guess, judging by the gaping hole in the clone’s torso. 

It’s definitely a clone: rather than the red blood the captain had been dreading, the gore splattered across the walls was a pink spongy substance. A foam? He didn’t want to look closer, given that the odor it made was strong. Quickly thinking back to Sage’s messages, Brimstone claps a hand over his nose and mouth to block out the fumes. He takes another step forward, edging closer to get a better assessment of the clone’s equipment.

But he’s easily distracted. The copy hiccups wetly, sputtering out a milky substance with each shallow breath; upon closer inspection, the chest plate must have taken the brunt of the shot at point-blank. The wound is still lethal regardless. Brown eyes are blown wide, staring past Reyna and Cypher in an attempt to focus on its reflection. A hand twitches, dragging groggily up and over a hip, moving for something.

So Brimstone snags its wrist with his foot and pins it to the dust under his boot.

“Stop it!” Raze shrieks, finally managing to push Cypher aside as she staggers forward only to be accosted by Reyna. “ _Pare com isso_! Deixe-a em paz, estou te implorando, pare! Pare, _stop_ , please—”

The last straw breaks. “Enough!” With a snarl, Reyna slams the younger woman against the wall, pinning her in place by the jaw. “That is not a human, idiota, that is _garbage_. That is a waste of a perfectly good shotgun, a waste of my time and your tears. You are a human, ja?” Manicure digging into the plush of Raze’s cheeks, the vampire bares her fangs, eyes alight with fury. “You are a person? Then stop wasting our time, stop wasting your tears, and do not make me waste another fucking bullet on _you_.”

Cypher leaps back to his feet, jerking Reyna by the shoulder. Before he can do anything else, the empress snags him by the throat, clicking her tongue. “Mind your business, cucaracha.”

A gun clicks. Brimstone turns to see Jett aiming down the sights of her Vandal, hissing a breath through grit teeth. “Let them go,” she commands.

When Reyna rolls her eyes, Brimstone snaps. He stomps over behind Reyna, pulls out his own Spectre, and sets the cold tip of the barrel against her back. “You heard her. Drop ‘em.”

A fuschia eye peers back at the captain. Cypher chokes, clawing at her tightened grip with his good hand. Against the wall in Reyna’s opposite grasp, Raze stands on tip-toe, heels scraping the stucco for purchase and finding none.

The safety on Brimstone’s Spectre clicks off. “Last chance, Delilah,” he growls. “Wrong enemy.”

With a blithe sigh, the empress acquiesces, leaving both agents to wheeze as their teammate turns to face the gun still pointed at her midsection. A coy smile tugs at her lips as she slides a hand under Brimstone’s, raising the barrel level with her heart. “Next time you point a gun at me, capitán, you better not miss.”

“Then don’t make me point a gun at you twice,” the man challenges, and Reyna laughs in his face before pushing the gun away.

She spits at the clone on her way past, shouldering by Jett as she meanders further into Kingdom’s labs.

“What a charming woman,” Cypher mutters, rubbing at his throat.

Brimstone casts the other man a withering look before rolling his neck, recentering. “Alright, kids, let’s wrap this up. Jett, take Raze back to rendezvous. I need you both outta here,” he orders. Jett nods, Raze protests, and Brimstone ignores her. “Cypher, proceed to target. Reyna, you and I cover him. Just because it’s home stretch doesn’t mean we drop our guard, and I want the payload primed and deployed in ten, do I make myself clear?”

“Like shit you do! _Fuck_ that!” In a flash Raze makes a move, ducking under the swing of Brimstone’s arm as she drops next to the clone.

“Kid, don’t—!”

“Hey,” she coos, hands hovering awkwardly. The sunny yellow of her painted fingertips brush along the side of her clone’s face, feather-light against its hair and skin. “Hey, can you still hear me? Can you—me diga seu nome, é meu também? Hey, hey, shh—”

With a sigh, Brimstone sets his hands on his hips, coming to stand behind Raze. “Come on, it’s not gonna—”

“She’s okay.” Raze reaches out, cupping the clone’s face as it croaks out a breath. “She’s gonna be fine, we can take her to Sage, right? We can fix it, she can help, we just gotta get her home! We just gotta go home, it’s okay—”

“Let… let her go, kid. Izzy, she’s dying.”

“No! No, no, no, she’s okay, we’re okay, I promise! I promise, please, _please…_ ” she sobs, smiling with trembling lips.

The clone’s eyes have begun to glaze over, but a moment of clarity sparks through as they fix on the tear-streaked face in front of them. The hand that Brimstone had pinned managed to snake back up during their scuffle, now laying draped across its abdomen to grab something on its opposite hip.

Brimstone’s eyes narrow. “What are you…?”

The clone wields its prize with the pop of a cap. 

Panic rears its ugly head at long last as the captain yells, “Shit, get back!”

With the last of its strength, the clone’s face contorts into rage between Raze’s fingers, and it lets out an inhuman screech that makes Brimstone’s blood curdle. Its fingers tighten around the detonator in its hand.

Time is seldom on anyone’s side, but it seems to grant Brimstone some favor as the next few seconds pass in slow-motion. He snags Raze, dragging her away with all his strength, shielding her as much as he can as a teleporter bangs to life in front of them. A white coat flashes for a moment before vanishing, making way for the captain to dive. The blast forces them forward, launching him off his feet. Heat flares across his back for just a moment before every cell in his body hums with the electric shock of materializing on the other side of the portal. They should be safe.

While time might finally be on his side, gravity is not. Their momentum isn’t slowed as they barrel through the teleporter head-first. Pain explodes behind Brimstone’s eyes as they hit something cold and steel.

With a bang, everything goes dark.

* * *

_“Hey dad, I know it’s late. I just wanted you to know I made it to the hotel in one piece. The flights were fine, the hotel is nice, blah blah. You know the drill, haha!_

_“I’m still in Chicago for tonight, but Kingdom is wheeling me off in the morning. You know I can’t say where they’re actually taking me—confidentiality clauses are so stupid, especially when my dad works for Kingdom. Like, hello? You probably know where I’m headed anyway._

_“If Anika is still butthurt about not getting the internship, tell her that’s her problem and I’m not sorry. She got to see radianite when she won the Wunderkinder thing, and she was six. I’m nineteen, it is_ my _turn, girl! Get over it! Ugh._

_“My phone’s gonna be off tomorrow because—you know. Protocol? Dumb rules are still rules. Anyway, I love you. Don’t starve to death as you sit by the door all week waiting for me to come home. Buzzkill out.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I AM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this, and all my other fics thus far! I'm sorry I don't update nearly as often as I should, but as I've said before, these chapters are labors of love, and I still prefer taking my time and giving you my best work rather than throwing something out that I can't stand. You deserve the best, and I will always endeavor to give it.
> 
> That being said, I do have applications open for a beta reader. You can apply here: https://forms.gle/Hguxe5ZWzDuYffkSA
> 
> The story from here on out is going to be intense. Characters are going to do things that will require me to add tags that might just make you scratch your head, so... heads up? I'm really looking forward to showing you all what I have planned, so stay tuned--hopefully It won't take as long for me to write a new chapter, now that this one is finished! (Action sequences are HARD, man!)
> 
> You can get ahold of me via my twitter (@hotlegfryegg) OR my sparkly new discord server! I'd love to chat with all of you! https://discord.com/invite/y94gcBtgwK
> 
> As always, thank you for the kudos and kind comments. I cannot understate that your messages mean the world to me, and I sit on them like a goblin to read them over and over whenever I hit a wall. Thank you, thank you, thank you!


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